blood moon

Crow arguing with
The blackbirds

We are lost at sea

At play were the elements
Fire conversing with tree

The boats on the water
At harbor
Buoyed and bobbed
In tumultuous wake

In the wind all
The church steeples bent
Over backwards not wanting 
To break

Coyotes and witches
All cackled and howled
At a bloody full moon

A mischievous
Handkerchief wove from
Unwilling Gossamer:
Unspun cocoon

town and country

This town is a city
this city a country
this country a freak show
a fricassee!

This app is a salad
with sap - that’s a ballad
this song is a mallard
ducks died
in my peking pank.

Out my office window
fly five to ten birds
they wheel in the wind.

A chocolate croissant
is my means
and end.

Sausalito Docks

Could be sansevierias
Crushing it in the noon-glow
Or disk backing in new moon halo
Wiggling luminensces
Finger tracing the big fig
We were out by the dark docks
Nostrilling cold air by boat glimmer
Bouncing stars off black baywater

Snot..

snot
but ‘twere my nog to doff
I’d be
parting the waters like
C. Frogglehoff

snot
but ‘twere my bewn to pick
I’d be
mushing up a stone
to prick

In Tokyo 9.25.17

here in tokyo
the crickets chirp
some bike wheels by
harajuku is quiet at night
the balcony is a dense space
airconditional drone and whir the sounds
a violint cicada chimes in overwhelm
water in my copper jar
self administered foot massage
poet on a harajuku night
she is in the shower
monday night
in japan.

Tig Bearneeoth

Tig bearneeoth, starlee soff sconofforomp
drootching oop them nardigrarnts
party parnts arn.

Fallaroffororopop um cardiac pernoperonct?
Eh, tardy carly hoffle opt’n
topple thought vine.

Hooskibri milaculoien -
hardly scared mopolopsy
tinder binging auto talkers
toggle at me.

Schizophrenic Dancers

Boogie waltz or martial arts
on grimy Frisco street
pop and locking
mutter talking
Dance! is on the schizoid wavebrain today

one man blocks Market street
with smooth butter moves
forearms spinning like drone ‘pellers
catching his glimpse
in the marble pane of a scraper deli

zig zagging Battery a frantic shuffler
left hand gripping his jeans
ass fallen out the back
cigarette in the careening right
pirouetting, blaspheming
“FUCK… BASTARDS!”
breaking the unspoken “no contact” rule
as he bursts past a lady in the bus line
saggy soles rubber every
inch of the pavement -
Stomp and Wheel!

a kung fu master
feet squared between
lamp post and newspaper box
clutching a bag of baccy
elbow strike,
chamber,
combination punch,
swooping knifehand,
ecstatic, magical tai chi
building an energy ball,
summoning change

Today they break out in dance
on the Frisco street -
schizo crazy
movement
livens gloomy techhead
as the moon waxes gibbous
they swing wild arms
jitterbug down forgotten lanes
bare ass in broad daylight
with a swagger no sane
square can stand to
applaud.

starbucks at 6am (part II)

mercedes pulls up
dude gets out
big belly, red shirt
nike swoosh on his white ball cap
black shorts and he got on flip flops
goes straight for the Chronicle
and heads to the register.
suspense - will he get a drink?
orders a small dark roast.
whispy white hair on his thick neck.

little does he know!
little do they know!

little does the man with the big sheet of
NEON PAPER know
orange highlighter - he’s been to Walgreens
He nibs the page, middle aged!

Starbucks at 6 in the morning!
In they pour! Out they jumble!
OOH the drinks!
OOOH OOOH  OOH the drinks!
the snacks
the WiFi

little do they know!
little do they know!

little does the blonde barista know
probably 17
his hair waved in a doo
straight from 1950
green apron on, he glances ‘round
his tattered blue shirt
looks to be passed down.
little does he know!

lttle does the pigeon know
that quarbles in the muck
drinking sludgy water from a
shallow puddle in the lot
puffy mantle iridescing
in the dawnlight.

starbucks at 6am (part I)

am plugged in
charging
on the power mat.

she

giggles as she reads
a poem by Craig Raine
page 832.

now

she’s onto Rita Dove
page 862
Modern Poetry.

all

mond cappuchino does
is sit be sipped and chucked
the lid’s a total waste.

tahoe sky

the animate swallows of
tahoe wood meadows
drift pine top to pine top
on carnival wings

they squeak across blueness
announcing existence
and twirl through the breezes
quick moths of the day

dive, glide, and whistle
white breasted as penguins
then outstretch like aerocraft
slicing the sky

the pines thrust up heavenly
no death about them
lusty green needles
buttress every spare twig

men in the distance blast
something post-Beethoven
kick drum, guitar, bass
a car door slams shut

her atmosphere cherishes
all that it caresses
pines, larks, a poet,
the stones by the shore.