[audioplayer file=”https://admin.rattle.com/audio/BeachGraceland.mp3″]
under graceland
the distant whine
of a dental drill
bloodhound stare
through sliding glass
freezing fog
a few leaves skitter
across the docks
now, conveyor belt sushi.
the illusion of limitless bounty
and so it is with happiness;
the fleeting leap
of a red
squirrel
or dangling chads—why you
always digging up old stuff?
the ancient struggle
against my own better angels
lunar halo
when lichen outpaces
erosion from acid rain
the marble steps
of the central library will eulogize
all abandoned wisdom
a single flame burning
in the collective unconsciousness
i can think
of several things more cruel
than lilacs, mud and springtime
staring balefully from the kitchen
like an empty paper towel roll
the simulacrum
of a phallus stretches up
to the pure Virginia sky
pa’s stars and bars stashed away
in the sourmash reliquary
just waiting for that
old time
tent revival
i renew my vows
of complacent acceptance
the wind shifts,
a scent of hope and fear
mixes with gardenia
a blister under the tongue
tastes of excess succor
for a danish
in denmark
is viennese bread;
hamlet rubs one out
to a bit of ludwig-van
and poets are made of fire.
or was it silk and chocolate mousse
with shards of glass?
there is virtue left yet
in not knowing one’s place
be it watergate
or waterloo
the slack tide yields to dawn
two fistfuls of mini-buddhas
and still no closer to sainthood
mary’s heart sinks
in the slow glissando
of masking tape
what odd joinery is this?
what shoddy craftsmanship!
the lake glisters
with fragments—
of moon of sun of star
a solemn marsh intones
the flatulence of will-o’-wisps
champagne tastes
best drunk straight from the bottle
among good friends
another year is born
seeming more weary than new …
the look in the eyes
of goya’s cronos
as every second tries to eat the next
serving leftover turkey
in the homeless shelter
a landscape of crystal
meth enjoyed
from the comfort of a frozen box
the taxman can’t take
what you never earned
double cherry blossoms
in profusion
around the federal bank
a child weeps gently
like a national guitar