In Maine

I have watched the greatest of my days from a distance in Maine.  

I remember each one vivid with color. 

I have seen the arch of mortality from the summit of Bald Rock Mountain.

Disgracing the godliness of my mother, this earth. 


The clouds talk to me in Maine, and I listen back with trust.

They are always telling me that the sky is about to fall.

The only thing left holding it up are the branches of the trees. 

And soon they will be gone too. 


Everything dies in Maine. 

This time of year, everything dies. 

seasons changing

in every time & every place
there is a reason to efface
certain names & pretty faces
seasons changing

the sea bids me farewell today
shimmering waters of coastal maine
glass tide questions remain the same
seasons changing

back to chilled autumn air
hay bale tombstones everywhere
harvest offerings like a prayer
seasons changing

the world is on fire in revery
old men whistling sad melodies
still i weep for what is happening
seasons changing

Ballad for Delia

Delia's in the kitchen

with two love crumbs for eyes

& her head feeling like the inside of a prune

for she knows what she's forgotten

 never really even mattered

& all these years she has shouted at the moon


"why are we all so scared

of the things for which we most care?" 


she descends from her castle

 in the middle of the woods

& all the mountain men start calling out her name

she could run faster, or maybe bring disaster

if what she spoke & what she thought were one in the same


"I wonder what it feels like

to fall through the air at midnight?" 


so remember poor Delia

when you light a candle

or say a prayer for your own self in the dark

seems as though she tried

but never really cared much

to escape the sinkhole encompassing her heart


"beloved and lover

but only one or the other?"



Atlanta never looked so pretty as on a holiday

Peach fuzz sun setting ahead(west on my mind)


Sear marks across a tender July sky

Highway-smells of propane and sulfur


America is happy tonight

Its roaring laughter erupts like fireworks


I follow that giant curling finger

Over foothills and around white lines towards Tennessee


I am a vibrant songbird, though my wings clipped & body caged. I am a vibrant songbird, I sing my freedom-song to the whole earth. 

My freedom-song of desire, blossoming in the midsummer heat. My freedom-song of yearning, reaching for new depths & heights. 

I believe in all space encompassed in my imaginary flight. I believe in singing for all the world, yet not losing myself in singing. 

I am a vibrant songbird, & this is my loud freedom-song: seeking more than songs & freedom, seeking more than pleasure, seeking simple peace.

pierhead lighthouse

pierhead lighthouse--rusted out shell of some forgotten weekend

beaten under lake erie's striking waves for centuries

& yet unwavering to demands from the angry water


one giant cigarette--shrinking under the weight of half-lit arguments

if god is awake in heaven, let him save this mark of freedom

& prove the lower lights burn still


they say if you look hard enough you can see canada from this point


canada--how sweet it sounds when you're drowning on the other side

icy water engulfing lungs, hearts

& bringing to mind a greater realization of unfulfilled prophesy 


by accident

for a single moment time stopped

& there we were, not realizing exactly who we were, but rather what we could be

at some rural ice cream hop in upstate NY, golden beams simmering down to whispering strokes in a july sky

grabbing a dole whip, flinging half of it behind an abandoned strip mall & stopping at a rest station before heading for the falls

the damp desolated restroom squeezing life from every corner of the warm thick air

there are certain unspeakable joys found in simple things (brilliant greens found in midwest midsummer nights) that are forgotten until remembered

& that's where i found myself: by accident at a dairy stand among nobody familiar & a painter, when for a single moment time stopped


in the basement

tiptoeing through the dark & stubbing your toe on some broken chainsaw, "goddammit!" then beat the thing half back to life & punching a hole in the drywall above the staircase

now which breaker leads to the upstairs bath? & when did it get so disgusting down here? & oh boy, look at that senior portrait (put a few pounds on since- haw haw!) 

all of a sudden it's like some giant dustbowl carnival & swinging around to ragtime & reliving those photographed memories (almost like ecstasy now days) 

so gently pet your old chainsaw buddy & patch the hole before climbing up the heavy stairs back to whatever your wife's current mood is