Public Discourse
Beethoven's 5th, ballgame cheers,
Doris Day's phone in the 50's,
ringing at the same time
from several street corners,
tucked in a purse, backpack, brown bag,
or held firmly between teeth,
bright Chesire Cat of a mini-kiosk
flipping into a street sign.

She calls from points unknown
to "come and get me,"
when coming and getting
don't know each other
from either direction,
the way a Lion King roars
at a stage puppet
with its head lopped off.

The Ambassador's Message
Can it be possible
I've walked away from everyone
I've loved, when I thought
they were the ones who disappeared,
watched them
roll off time's edge,
calling myself "clean,"
an innocent, laughing
like a madwoman,
bloated with truth?

A father, mother.
Lovers gone. Now you.

Was it my solitary nature,
my need to sort out
what you said first
without a quick answer,
for recruiting you
into this hostile mess
as our silences glazed into years,
when I'm the one
who should've stayed put,
bathed your feet in pomegranate juice?

Can I answer this question?
Can a hostage speak freely?

One evening at summer's end,
you locked yourself out,
left your furniture
for someone else
to dust off with a wet cloth;
I, crouched ragged
in a dirt corner, knew
I couldn't save you.

After Akhmatova
A cataract more like mist
forms on sliding doors
between a couch where I sit
surfing channels, and trees outside
rooted in a water table whose levels rise
before they recede
the way love has from me.

Don't Mind Us,
We're Just Here
to Identify Wildflowers
On the outskirts
of bitterroot
take the water route
to get funded
through a helping
of potatoes
pass the gravy
no room available
for an empire of oil?

No more openings
no more creeks
hail thunder
to the chieftain
on a bedroll
give me hummus
wild orchids
look like scrotums
pinkies on a pyre.

Play-acting
with a mask on
very scary
Halloweenie
Tiger Lily
Peter Pannish
what a nebbish
tip-toe diplomacy
global warming
in a pot-stirring air.

I'm walking
in my diapers
I'm a baby
pampered tie-dye
bachelor buttons
in my sandy
vagina scratchy
going naked
want my bottle
suckers what a bunch.

I'm trailing
on the outskirts
decked in trillium
in delirium
jeans with lycra
counting pollsters
can't be possible
temperate weather
so dry them bones.