Another insertion

This time a cab from Newark

I can’t see a badge but the accent is African

The sky could be any season

The air, any industry, sweat and petrol

I bounce in the back

Of this yellow Ford

Generic black interior

Without breakfast or sleep having

lost much more than three hours

Cause certainly my dinner

in the Sierra foothills

was half a day ago

And now sliding on vinyl

I recognize NewYork approaching me

First the tool booth cutie

Do-rag, yellow safety vest, mirror aviators

Big lips do a little kiss/sniff/purse move

As we pull away and she

prepares For the next encounter

And the cabbie’s sad dixie cup rattles

with pens and straw

As my phone charger cord snakes back

from his lighter plug

Juicing back to connected life

For one more day

And we then dip

Holland Tunnel US 1 & 9-Truck

Through the alien wonders of Jersey City

Why humans spend so much to crowd

Is now somewhat beyond me

Cab 91 (dispatched by Patricia Canty)

Bears me east into MnHaddn

His garmin promising an arrival time

Odds averaged against the crowd

Every passenger a poem, a progress

We <3 ny

It’s no time to complicate

To arrange or communicate

Add more layers to the dress

Consider angles of load and stress

Master techniques, straighten lines

Research approaches, estimate times

Prepare the process or perfect the plan

Apologize or repay the man

No time to add another flock of words

Just time to vanish like Imagined birds

No time to worry about what happens so

Just close your eyes and let them go

Majestic forest Northern
California summer crunch
each step dry cracking 
Deadfall 
Overhead widow makers
everywhere blow downs and 
knock downs
Tinder really
Dead 
Wood
my thoughts also crunchy 
Fire Fear
Armageddon too!
I think I want it to just be over 
So much pain
In the news
more pain
in the forest, the streets, families
PAIN
Even sex seems painful now
Poetry too!

I brought a small notebook
Out to this wood 
on retreat 
But forgot to remind myself 
“bring a pen”
Then found one and it’s out of ink
So much pain
So I’m typing a phone note
By the flicker of an led tea light
Instead of a candle
Because…
Fire

 

27 jun 19

On the front step
Watching the orange cat
Chewing… Biting really
The herb growing by the sidewalk
Tiny blue blossoms
I don’t know… maybe it’s catnip
I thought, “this‘d make a good poem”
But it wasn’t dirty enough or something
Because honestly, in my hand,
Was a device tuned to a digital book about behavioral triggers
Because maybe someday I want to make something
More of my life than impulsively scribbling down
These dirty scraps of noticing…
Not even insights… Just saw a cat, big deal
But he was so mad at this herb
Maybe it wasn’t catnip
And a real poet would be reading a book on native herbs
Then of course the cat noticed me
And stared at me hard like… I really can’t say
As if it wanted me to turn into a big pizza
Or a live tuna fish
He even took a few steps towards me
And let out a miserable squawk
But I wasn’t feeling it
maybe I was being cat like
He gave up and walked away

wayback debris / fading crumbs / feeling

what now? the pain
continues
the people
have dispersed
all lights out
for the night
i run absurd
dreams through the streets
get surrounded
by
multitudes
i disappear
invisible
confused horrified

(march 2017 sonoma county)

	once we were big shots
inventing the net
	were important people
		in the edge
cracks		me  up		ha ha
	ha how 	much   has changed
don’t even 	recognize myself
	on market street
but	i still have 	that suit
			   somewhere