Il Toscano

The Douglaston rabble

is old and loud;

they shout at the waiter

by name.

The heat flushes us;

we stay stoic and proud.

We look the part,

but can’t act the same.

We pay our bill,

savor the coffee

and the fact

we have souls.

We draw our power

from the star-splattered night;

we soar above these petty lords

and their reign over dinner chairs.

We dip

our coffee spoons

in the soft flank

of the ice cream.

Tip well

and glide through

the dining rooms

and away;

running headstrong

into the winter night

and greater magic

to come.

Quest for Cold

Bring us that air of steel,

the punching breeze

that makes us real.

Thrive in crystal bold

blankets of white

that let us draw from the cold

to give us might.

Let us have the joy

of breath like ice

a little longer.

Give us the season

that makes us stronger.

News of the World

Fireworks crack wise

over Southern skies

the Georgia pine stay silent

as the New Year

promises to conquer fear

with a birth

in a burst of violence.

The chill night sky

makes us sweet promises

of dark ventures

if we only take them.

The blue night commands

that we not follow legends

but make them.

Spread the news:

We’re barreling through,

upsetting pretenders

and electrifying

you. 

At the Campbell Apartment

an old safe

in a faux fireplace

prays mutely

for greater purpose;

the guests

don’t think about

its great secrets

or former treasures

as they swirl their wine

chatter echoes on,

words falling

uncounted

on the dusky walls

minutia of business,

hollow words

stream endlessly,

keeping us from

going home

to real life

and our better selves