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THE HUMAN RACE IS DISGUSTED
Observe, as you lounge in one place, At some busy café—you, too, will be disgusted by the human race. The picky ordering, customers unsatisfied; The nerdy college couple who kiss each other’s hands...
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NATIONAL POETRY DAY, OCTOBER 1
What did you do on Poetry Day? Did you look at someone you love—and quickly look away? Did you write a poem, and feel awkward doing so? Awkward—because of what all bright days and all dark branches...
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ART COVERS UP
Art covers up everything that we would like to do. This is your painting. And here—over here—stands you. To acquire that skill takes a certain amount of work. You gave up. In your soul the lazy...
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U.S.A.
I remember when my country was young; Day-time World Series—on television sets in store windows—watched by everyone— Who shrugged off assassinations and other black-and-white news With candlelight...
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WHAT MISSES US
“Love is an accident” —old saying What misses us—is not—you and me. Desire is slavery—and you and I are free. How did this warm evening find you and I together at the entrance of the park Where on...
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IS RENOIR PORN?
The Large Bathers—Pierre-Auguste Renoir Renoir was in his mid-forties when he devoted four years on his famous “The Large Bathers” (1887), perhaps his most ambitious painting. Will RSAP—the “Renoir...
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I’LL WOO HER BACK WITH POETRY
I’ll woo her back with poetry Because that’s how I won her first. Maybe she doesn’t love me— Maybe my poems will fail— But miss a chance to love? To love her! That’s worse. I already love her, the...
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WHEN YOU SEE THE WEATHER COMING OVER THE TREES
When you see the weather coming over the trees You wonder what the world is hiding: In the next town, perhaps, she is on her knees, The rain clearing, the brightening sky Changing the whole look of...
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ART APPRECIATION
Incapable of love, All you do is seduce. You are not the real fruit— But the perfume, the juice. Incapable of thought, You fashion the noose. You revel in surfaces. Your philosophy: the excuse....
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UNTIL I’M CAPTURED AGAIN
Until I’m captured again I will love the chain, and pretend You are on the other end. You captured me—almost—completely. But since no one is ever free— Again and again you torture me, For that is...
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BEFORE LOVE SPOKE, THERE WAS NO LOVE
Before love spoke, there was no love. In the old days desire had no voice, only a sharp spear For hunting—breeding sensation and fear. In our day, desire is made of speech. But since this change,...
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WHEN I WAS A LADY
When I was a lady, and all My suitors were ignored who loudly came to call, I dreamed of a humble one who wrote Music. I loved each quiet note. There is a loudness that is not heard As loudness—now...
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WHAT I THOUGHT WAS VARIETY
What I thought was variety was not variety at all: Variety of grass. Variety of film short. Variety of tall. What I thought was variety was not variety at all: Variety of virtual, variety of very tall...
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THE END OF FORMALISM
“I would counsel Lysias not to delay, but to write another discourse, which shall prove the lover rather than the non-lover ought to be accepted.” –Socrates (The Phaedrus) Wouldn’t you say, a thing...
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IF YOU WANT TO KNOW WHAT THE SOUL IS
If you want to know what the soul is— You tribes who love poetry— I will tell you by the time you turn around; I will illustrate with a simple example I found. Listen. If you try and define the act of...
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TYPES
The writer types types. And typos! The darling little typos! Bambinos! I had a crisis this morning and thought (as I typed my typos) There are no people! Only types. The interesting woman has only...
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I, TOO, FIND THIS WORLD MEAN AND UGLY
I, too, find this world mean and ugly. When I am sad, it is sadly beautiful, But this is a passing mood, and not the truth. Accidental verdure trailing across the top of an industrial fence outside...
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TOO BEAUTIFUL FOR MARRIAGE
There is a kind of all-knowing, beautiful person Who is certain—their beauty proves it—that we are all alone. To them, a conversation always has a different tone. When they see pictures of couples, a...
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YOU WILL ONLY BE ALIVE TOMORROW
As you examine the ruin of your life, Which, in your mind, you call yesterday, A once-happy past that brings you sorrow, In a present that disappears, You understand—as you count your tears— You will...
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WHAT SHOULD BE PRAISED?
We don’t love what flatters us. I could not lie to either, Though I tried, telling her, Who was not smart, “I love your mind!” And telling her, ugly as a fart, “I love your body! Can I kiss your...
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