Memories of Beer

a hot numbness

of happiness, wet

and sends us

to that sweet deadly zone

            that craves the next

            and the next again

release that makes carefree

but wary the supply may dry

living for the comfort cocoon,

for the lullaby music

of the crack of can

or the vacuum kiss

of the frost-smoke bottle

remembering to be slave

to that cold kiss,

gateway 

to an uncertain heaven

On the Peter Pan Bus

Peter Pan tosses us,

an early Friday escape

from the choking rush hour

Peter Pan implores, begs us

to claw our current selves

away

and be children again

but we decline,

eyeing sideways

the awkward smattering

of humanity

slicing down the American highway

in these two, too-slow hours.

Bring us, save us

oh Tower of Babel on wheels!

Somewhere among our cramped ranks

is a warrior poet

hurtling head-first

into glory.

Winter in Queens

in warren dens

of clutter

dust mist

swirls a dance

as needle winds

scream past

draughty windows

burrowed

above the hard streets

where America gets molded

one rough day at a time

the rough clay

drawn from hard lots

crafted

over patched blacktop

and spotted sidewalks

scramble down

teeming streets

stop-go, packed-hell

commute

lets us daydream

our way

to destiny