Poem 52

my green-eyed mercurial boy

wanted nothing but a nice place

and a woman

in turn, alluring boys took him

on the road to perdition

in his brain wires got crossed

broken leg, football, trans am

couch rest, sunny days and a baby

eveningly, like an angel

a nightingale sings him a lullaby

protecting a gentle soul

from the ashes of excess

self destruction turned

poetry and hope

on a downward spiral

i’ve met a girl

my numbness

rushed us under my roof

of misery and resignation

my regret a nightmare of aches

desiring the one i love and lost

for my will strong was not

to be sensible and tell her

now, in this limbo of pills i exist

walking on a tightrope

of sanity and madness, a slope

at every corner of my uncertain feet

getting up is a struggle for

starving barking demons

mercilessly face and corner me

in my sleep, in daylight i see her

the one i love and lost for strong i was not

Poem 51

 oh Andy, do you remember

those days,

in the Lower East Side,

1975

how every morning

in a flowered patterned skirt

and rainbow strappy sandals

i would arrive

at the letterbox

avoiding a pool of piss, spunk, blood

escaping used condoms and

discarded syringes for a day’s work

at the vinyl shop?

upstairs, asleep, creatures of the night

pale and thin dreaming of the next fix

whilst across the road

vendors of flesh took their coffee

or was it firewater?

preparing to withdraw

until the shadows returned

for one more night shift

as we danced on the trendy bars

drinking expensive red wine

laughing and eating cake

like marie antoinette

ignoring the real issues

ours and theirs

but it was bloody good fun, wasn’t it, Andy?

Poem 50

the skinny big-eyed girl rode the visual poem bicycle

on the 66^th road of the path of life

towards the scenic views of the cafeteria

where the sign of the zodiac met the arrow of fate

a grief-stricken flashboy dancer from the desert

with an award in heartbreak

upon the roof kids talked of love lust friendship

and the sorrow of frail gentle minds

over the bridge the passing lady in a red coat

asked the sound of waves in a pool of water

to take her photo, a moment of bliss to calm

the inner turmoil of a child lost by force and anger

in his moment of delusion life, like rubber in asphalt

melted sticky ugly, a burned down spiral

of a digger on the depths of fear

the shaking french sailor pompom, uneven on dry land

77 days away the singer’s soundless voice gone

for a walk in suburban wilderness

destiny unbroken rules maintained drawing circles

of hell in paradise infinite eights carried door-to-door

by the baker who praises mauve daisies to dancers

whistle a crying baby’s undisturbed sleep

comes to her senses, but not so

my bass guitar ungently weeps, talking me out of

emptiness, looming large the giraffe mutters lies and truths

for elise tired of waiting took off with a blonde jester

unsuitable for love drowning her misery in weeds

a still unlived live forever captured in raw umber