Aluminum Roof

Aluminum roof-

dressed in the white waste of birds.

You have reflected

the omnipresence of our

oppressive, life-giving sun.

This Same Spot

Keep poets out

of the planted beds.

There is something wrong and

it is not just inside the head.

Another confession in which the

guilt remains a secret still.

And that dream with movement

through the physical remains.

Finding a gigantic infant weeping inside

a small box and loneliness and waking-

up screaming on the inside trying to forget

of course and this was just two days ago.

That same day it was an identical situation,

static, paralyzed in that position. Now it will

be known but it won’t be for the better,

and it doesn’t matter if it matters.

Song of Solitude

Driving alone through the

city and your cure is

the Holy Hour


This supermoon sings

of solitude but

you are not sad


The smoke will seep

through lips and drift

as high as Luna


This special moon

it does not speak

but sing


Sing along even if you’re wordless

even if you think others

do not share your burdens


There lies pleasure

in solitude

and singing


This is a song

of not just yourself

but also the moon


And as you drive over

and with Walt Whitman

you sound your barbaric yawp

Somehow the Sound

Somehow the sound

of automobiles on

pavement a mile away

on a “freeway”


Somehow the sound

is soothing

and is it crazy to

think the same


Somehow the same sound

(but closer) would

be hell it would

bring you to hell

Shadows of Clouds


through ancient

burial grounds

inside wrath

my heart and

the one beyond but

the water remains



I saw a shape

but then it turned

into a tree

and I’m not

sure if I am

welcome here


I’m not sure.