Friday, June 13, 2014


Alone in the house I felt
A child performer
In a talent show
Where the audience,
Lacking prescience,
Sunk in a darkness so deep,
Might be dead, enchanted or asleep.

But then, beyond the stage –
Its undulating vibe too vague to gauge –
Surging like a scull without navigator,
The crowd huzzahs each little gladiator;

High upon a platform, dissembling contumely,
Celebrity judges one, two, three
Postpartum artists turned hacks
Rave or turn their stony backs.

Afraid of the bedroom
Dim-lit by five watery moons,
Scared of the bed,
Where textile involutions lapped in waves
There for decades as we lay,
Rippling above diurnal imprints,
Forensic silhouettes
By time forgiven
As though awaiting Armageddon;

Scared of a trap,
Relief map
Of our sex and sleep,
A hex so deep;

Mind abuzz with pale lights,
With epithalamic rites, delights
Of flesh
Dissolving into flesh, 
Of senses all akin,
Of crawling into one another's skin,

I remembered summer nights
Warm and good
From childhood:
A jar of June bugs:
Flashing their tiny globes:
Performing for us their canticle,
Their miracle.
Slightly tragic, making magic
For admiring
Before expiring.

That night I slept unsuccessfully –
Without Zen
In the den
With the picture window –
Intaglio of–
Cold uncurtained rectangle;
Alternating dark-light, 
Dwarf star of 
The upper heavens.

In the middle of the night
I sat abruptly up, in fright –

Stood in the doorway to the room,
Faced my doom,
Faced the black rectangle,
Colder than ever,
Saw a man staring – at me:
No, never!

Call a friend?
Call the police?
I recognized his frowning face.

His wide blank eyes,
His stony chin.

Would he
Stay outside
Or try to come in?

A face I’d seen before –
Oh Lord!

Beat it! Beat it!
No one wants to be defeated.

Fight or flight?
(In the Heat of the Night)

Why’s he tarrying?
What’s he carrying?

A Jar of Dreams or
Jar of Hearts?

Nothing’s what it seems
Moving Parts

Animate this crazy toy,
Man or boy.

Stare him down?
Shame the clown?

Show ‘em how funky
Strong is your fight

Or try to rumble
His pallid demeanor?

It doesn’t matter
Who’s wrong or right

On go the lights –
He’s harder to see –

All the lights are on
But no one’s home

I turn around
And suddenly

Shades of Roman

There's that face –
Visage notorious –

There on The Twelve Caesars  
By Suetonius:

Book cover featured
For midnight Facetime

Sculpted forehead,
Traits straight, aligned,
Perched on a shelf
– that blinded face –

Eye-level portrait
On a tall bookcase

All reflected in window glass –
Julius Caesar by Suetonius!

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