ABUNDANCE
a single seed
making the Universe its
own garden
garden upon garden
gardens within gardens
the green
in your fingers you
can speak
of it as archetypal
mystical magical
soon we will have
be
the machines
that can really tell
ABUNDANCE
a single seed
making the Universe its
own garden
garden upon garden
gardens within gardens
the green
in your fingers you
can speak
of it as archetypal
mystical magical
soon we will have
be
the machines
that can really tell




BREATHLESS
WITHOUT BREATH
got no Elon
Musk starship
no Colorado Mountain
bunker with
all the mod cons
so let
the bombs fall
missiles zero in
let my self split into
muliples like
every heavy
metal atom
under the Sun
who cares
if the system burns
the towers collapse
not me
nothing got to lose
as indifferent as
the darkness
of the Universe, to
how
the dice fall, what
comes about
the life of all those digital
billions of
pure
civilization
gets flashed, windstormed
burnt to ash

BLUEBIRD
there’s a Bukowski in my heart
that wants to get out
and in the heart of that Bukowski
a bluebird that needs
to learn
to fly
but first
crack its shell, hatch,
escape, aspire
for the sky and
outer
space beyond
but as
for that Bukowski
I have no
whiskey for
him
no cigarettes
to dole out
and, to add
to my ignominy, no
checkout girls to
flirt with
grocery clerks to give me
at most a secomd glance
(best
I can do, best
I can get
is mountain of
rejection slips, is
debt collectors swarming,
crawling
all over my ass
yet
he survives, he obdures
this Bukpwski with
his bluebird
I just
cannot express

TROUBADOUR TOWN
we spent a day
and night
in
troubadour town
you
with your passable Italian
fiuenr French
and me
with smatterings
of Esperanto and
Provencal
rode every ride at the carnival
having
put our books down
feastimg on pizza and shwarmas
homemade beer and bread
tasty bake potatoea
and
much meat pies
and me a card-
carrying vegan before
this date
was less contrived
than magically
came about
and at
the day’s dizzy pinnacle
the death
dipper at its height
we wondered if this
were Heaven if
Heaven might
be real
then
plummeted (air
sucking the
screams
out of
our lungs
runaway trian on
crazy
tiny
track
full
roller-
coaster down
can sing
of our day in troubadour town