
Pronto? (Hello?)
Inspired by Robert Rossellini’s film L’Amore
Cold water on lips
Eating, sleeping, why?
Exotic hell in the mirror
Black phone on white pillow
Eyes broken listen
Expectantly
Disheveled hours of waiting
It rings
A storm on a trembling mouth
“I told you not to speak; I’d accept anything.”
“You sound distant, how strange.”
“Hearts and stars, I can see with my ears.”

The Reply
I heard the returning
In a temporary thing
Heard it trespass
As keenly
As your steps
I heard a song
Come back to me
On the wind
I heard the stanza
It comes and goes
I heard a window open
I heard a heart
A beating of life
I heard a strange evening
And someone say
Say something
I heard silence
Reply

When Angie Speaks
When Angie speaks
It’s not words I hear
It’s the clack of a pool ball mouth
When Angie speaks
It’s the burn of whiskey on a dry throat
It’s crushed cigarettes
Buried deep in the sand
On some Corpus Christi beach
When Angie speaks
I hear agony in Texas grit
Nightmares exploding in her mind
When Angie speaks
I hear her head bashed in
I hear her feet
Wildly trampling over the grass
When Angie speaks
With lowered eyes
I hear caskets shut
I hear the flowers cry
I hear Angie’s joy die
It’s not words I hear
When Angie speaks

Ruined Sonata
Back then
You’d be writing and humming
It was sort of beautiful
Now a stab in the heart
I’m not far from
Every night
Every door
Every light switch
Every staircase
Not far from despair
You always kept to yourself
Didn’t you?
Everyone could see it
Your defenseless confusion
But still I loved you
Would break for you
Which no one can explain such things
Can they?
The morning has left bags under my eyes
Just like that time in Paris
Where we took the lift to that apartment
With the cocktails and the music and the madness
You ripped my dress in the street afterwards
A drizzle of rain came down
I knew how coldness felt right then
A ruined sonata
And we just start again
Don’t we?
Hot blooded couple
Who smile
When it’s over
Lie about what really happened
When asked

For Jack Albee He could sling the funniest sarcastic observations, but he was never cruel. He called our mutual friend Steve Berman, The Maniacal Crayon, Steve, an artist, had his art doodles stuck all over the walls of his Hollywood apartment. And I mean, there wasn’t even any space left to stick on a wad of gum. Albee was a member of the Albee theater family. He was a mime, an artist, a prankster, and one of the most in-the-moment people I have ever known. Jack would come up from LA to see me in Northern California, and we would spend the day in Sausalito. Jack introduced me to the Renaissance Faire, where he used to perform in his younger years. Jack Albee, my friend, I dedicate this poem to you.
He’s a Troubled Maker
It’s time for Joyce
And Joyce is time
For Ireland
My own mind
Honesty-certainty
And Dubliners
Is doubling
Doppelt
Doble
Duppio
Double
It’s time for William’s will
Deliver
Liver
De
Liver
Ah it’s time for Bergman
And hypersensitivity
Hyper-viper
Flashback of Katrina’s
Flashback of Katrina’s
And then there’s Albee
Not Edward—not that one own
But he knew dirty Gertie
That’s what they called her
He’s a troubled maker

Breathe
Greif and pain and grief and pain and grief and pain
And grief and pain and grief and death and pain
And grief and death and grief and pain and grief and death and pain and grief and death and you are coming through the sound system. Breathe, breathe baby breathe, breathe baby breathe
I hear your spirit through the acoustical tiles at the Houndstooth Pub on 8th Ave.
I hear your message in the song
Breathe breathe
“breathe, baby breathe”
It weaves its way barely audible
Floating between conversations
And over
And above the TV
but I hear you
I hear you I hear you I hear you I hear you
And grief and death and pain
And grief and death and pain
And grief and death and pain
And grief and death and pain
Where did you go?

For Tim
It is the way I am and the way I was taking in our loud silence in a car with the leaves of autumn on the floormat reading about the life of a contemporary voice I am found sitting up You were hoping for an encore That I might push you out there and introduce you But all I could think was what a prison I am in with you In the morning when the sunlight closed Behind the arboretum of trees The air I couldn’t even breathe I’m disappointed that you can live Live with the darkness beside the freeway “Extinguished you mean?” In every direction! You laugh on asphalt I would be blind if I could not ever touch you Over the hot dessert Upon something tiny and insignificant And when I hid my eyes I knew who I was The sky forbidding change Completely comprehending the end Which fell on its knees From nowhere in delighted joyful smiles