Whisper

You will see angry men, sensitive and insecure. Take off your angry sunglasses! Or an old lady reaching for French bread pizzas in the frozen section. 

“Where is my past of mounding dough down some stone canal in France?” A woman – Lone. “Where are my memories? Don’t you get them anymore?”

With dirty eyes peeking from a barred pharmacy window facing the street.

An escape from noise – To watch you 

Take off your wig on the cobblestone…

“Sure let’s crack it open, eh?”

Separating yourself from the identity that your family has only recently learned to love – and around the corner your running…

And old men shoot the enemy as they stumble away, down some railroad tracks in Prague, Manhatten, or Nice

Died mumbling.

I’ve seen leaders send their armies through the golden gates unlocked by Peter. Out these doors you left a man and returned beyond recognition, clawing through clouds and metal in order to reach the ones you love.

That loved you… Those who are no longer with you on Earth

Have forgotten the sound of your voice, and in the mirror stands a different man, numb – and sad like always in the dark giggling, clutching your knees and idiot.

What comes 

I’ve just heard some rumor                                             

Don’t worry, Don’t refuse to work   

Take ten minutes, 

Taste the free 

Coffee and Turkish meat of political rebels.  

I’ll have a plastic bag, I’m walking    

To tundra – Off shelves of Luna to snickers by Tosi toast  

 Into the Pacific – My eyes are always crying.

Doesn’t anybody stay in one place anymore?  

To listen to the lark ascending, the darkness of the sun.    

Babies cry next to empty shopping carts, inviolate  –    

In the middle of the road,    

The noon of night,   

The joy of love.                                                         

Braid your hair my daughter,   

                              Unknown girl, unborn divinity.     

Your mark’d defiance under trains   

Covered in Flipino mud 

 Where you may dig for diamonds,

 The eyes of an ancient woman

 Papa, will choose a bouquet of flowers – 

For the old Dodgers fan pulling himself across the square,   

 Dancing with Love  

White Heat.
We’re busy all day tomorrow,     

                                 Watch my cup of water tremble.            

Workshop Poetry

Don’t forget the market on Sunday, Don’t forget your Mama.

Dotted lights spell coffee behind my eyes, 

Blonde hair is braided, cutoff, and thrown away – Drowned in an awkward soda.

Cover your mouth. Her eyes dart around the room suspicious of you, followed by a man in yellow…

“You’re writing novels over there?”

Of course only the story of the dream in front me – Reaching for money.

Reaching for candy —

Should I stay with my Uncle? 

A man stares down into his green grocery bag,                              “Where is my money?”