The summer storms threaten

Every day about now, about 5,

Quitting time closing over the sky

Like a lazy eye dragging a headache behind

Hitched to its timid shawl.


And in the cataloging of wonder

What many loves might have been?

Prescriptions, banns a-wither on the vine,

The cracked corn drops like busted rosary beads,

Pinging off the ground so dry, drier still

It repels the thunderbursts.


The clouds stacking against themselves.

Bumped up against one another

As if they can’t get out of here fast enough

And often do before release

Like a man with breakfast already on his mind

One way or another whatnot and what have you

Never breaking the day

Never telling us what we have truly lost

But leaving that up to us.


The coolness comes from walking fast

While stepping softly, kicking up dust,

But you still can’t

Sneak up on yourself:


It’s a dream troubled by sleep.





The tome is a time bomb

No longer an innocent conflagration

But a fully flowered concern.

And a certain violence


Has visited the domain.

The terrain trembles in terror.

We huddle like malign masses.

I call through the smoke


Of burning Autumn Leaves

To the world we built for children

But have run out of time to rectify.

So now let’s turn our attention


Away from our feet

Where they have always been,

Solidly on the ground,

And commence with spinning webs


Made from sugar

And hang them like bunting

On the 4th of July

While waiting for dinner to arrive.

Notes From a Bagel Shop

Loitering (2)

“The sad empty places of retrospective experience”

Hasten the present and outrun us

To our graves which in turn are filled by-and-by –

I have

  1. An expensive haircut
  2. A good job
  3. An untucked shirt
  4. All of the above

There is no closed door

There is no record that is “off-the-record”

I have seen three people this morning,

All middle-aged men,

Wearing braces on their right hands

From the knuckle to the wrist –

Either there is a carpal tunnel epidemic sweeping the metropolitan area

Or bowling season has begun

Sparrows dine al fresco off the ground on the patio

Eating the crumbs of the egg, pumpernickel and

Even the various and sundry detritus of everything bagels,

Pecking quickly, without prejudice, before flying off.