Roller Rink Saddness

I am forever forgetting

falls gently the wrong advice

and the fleeting spaces

have come to be known as life

And the dreams downward

spiral beauty can only suffice

like a collection of moons

in a sleeper's gift of life

Down, down goes our dreams
and the worlds would splice
through the cylinder of trees
split the boards of life

Down goes our dreams
seeping like melting ice
into our graces and be boiled down
to taste only the sweetness of life.

The Center Outside the Center

My attitude toward the object

even the sun

the music lost behind

 

secrecy

The smack of kissing

Wheels perfectly imitating themselves

 

trying desertion at least once in your life

Even though your eyes

 the last to lose

the lighthouse's reflection on the water

 

happy to be missing

Like a boy listening to the telephone talk.

In the snowy nakedness 

making the most of his skin
 

I've stop fumbling for the light switch  

stacked these in a pile and came in.

Everything Else Can Wait

North 

surprise of being
pebbles one day
the center of the dream
distance
Shadows
Silence
the way back
the scramble of pink time
the deduction
the clearing
the gradation of flowers
the difference
a layer of trees
the only word to describe you
the regions of rain
lovers unwilling to avoid
the last minute firecracker
a patterned comfort
the wind through nice hair
amazement
a puzzling vanishing
a morning with friends
a disappearance


South

Nothing has happened in the last two seconds
that can explain the glancing blue lilacs
not the centuries where no one has lived
not the poetry that Neruda wrote
not the freshly bathing dawn
the pleated rain whose communication is reflection
the reappearing of reds and yellows desperate
like a harpoon its glass edge

Tonight

And I think if the world may end
where the moon light falls like snow
Let it end tonight so
so that I do not have to live through 

where the moon light falls like snow
and end even in our souls
so that I do not have to live through 
and live through and be through

And end even in our souls
At the end after the blue
and live through and be through
out in the snow we come into

At the end after the blue
that lives through our bodies
out into the snow we come into
where there is only you

that lives through our bodies
And I think if the world may end
Let it end tonight so
where it is only you

To My Son

When mom and I divorced

you stopped holding my hand

you stopped running into my arms

you stopped

Not because you were getting older

Not because you didn't love me

out of the coy corners of you eyes

or out of the little beginnings of a wry smile of hope

or happiness, or love.

but because suddenly at eight the world had

suddenly become a sad place

that at eight the energy coming off your fingers

coming off your eyelids

coming off the electrified tips of hair

had been snuffed out

had been closed like a house

on a street, in a city you

would never return to.

We try but end up doing nothing

but waiting for our lives to be over


Do you know I wrote two wonderful poems

filled with your brothers and was

waiting..waiting..waiting

not to write this poem to you.

To Cause to Glitter or Shine

Of the adventure we were mum

Of the sky we heard singing and checked in

Of the Japanese text we carried a handkerchief

Of morning we found something delicate

Of the months we resorted to amazement

Of the music we called for more fuzz

Of the others and the vagrants we were valleys and distance

Of the dandelions we were feeling haunted

The houses and the apartments lacked focus

On the skin travel sounded nice
Of the boys and girl circling in the atmosphere
like love swaying in all directions
we cleaned in-between the tip-toes
The rain fell and fell and fell
until the rain fell again and again some more
Of the kissing we kissed
Of the tiny messages there were volumes
Of the lovemaking laid the forms of poems.

New Letter

When they greet you

in the foreground
in the suburban

burnt out mornings
that only a dog skeleton

can absorb.
And they call you
by face and say,
"You are done
with 'you' poems!"

"With comical metaphors!"
"With lightness!"
Agree with them.
Tell them that
I am no longer sad.
I will write from metal
Of a hurrah
before charging
of all the things that fill
of all the things that I know
of the only thing I know.