Weary Bleary Fog-Eyed Burn

at some point

we betray ourselves

at work

the way our eyes

glaze over

at meetings

or how the inner fire

shines through

when talk turns

to the outside world

pleased and relieved

to be the outliers,

the tired dogs

that can do the harder work

without pretending

cloaked

in solitude

to dream

of better things

Day Adventuring

day adventuring

is driving, moving

to keep moving,

staring at rusted rebar

prodding wrought fingers

out of New Deal concrete

kissed by aquamarine

it is

reigning

over dead end streets

or quiet parks

where ducks wade

out of reach,

feeding sun-touched turtles

for their boldness

adventure is somehow

snatching solitude

like urchins steal bread

and pray

to the hedonist war gods

that we do not hang for it all

Early Fireworks

spied over

illicit rooftop visit

shining for miles

blasting holy glitter

on cloudy night

and muddy waters

glowing from the bridges

and the old towers

these mercantile dreams

made real with gunpowder

centuries still

Let this magic

never fade

from our red-blooded veins;

let us always retain

this rough-trade explosive crazy

that somehow,

against all odds

keeps us free.

The Truth of First Light

the pull of sleep

loses its hold

when the dawn

first light offers

to burn off the cold

the sweet dew chill

little sought

but for the take

a just reward

for being awake

catching the sky

blue for the right eyes

to set our hopeful gaze

and have adventure

before the heated haze

like the hunter

who sacrificed the night

this is the moment

arrived with first light

Victory of the Walkabout Tribe

A time to gaze

To let the mind graze

Walk to an anthem

Heard only by you

To watch dreams being dreamed

And to dream your own too

With future rejoicings

Overheard from within

The Walkabout Tribe

Will make you their kin

Through flush summer heat

Or steel-winter cold

These starry-eyed dreamers

Shall never grow old

How to Keep Time

like a starter pistol

shot up close

breakneck lessons

at the speed

of bumpy hayrides

pumpkin patch

rollicking

in fast-jostle motion

counted

with giggles

and stolen snapshots

one day at a time

up to bedtime

in joyous bedlam

reeling

pulling in memories

like a fighting ocean fish

gorging souls

in a cosmic fish fry

to the light

of fireflies

as children laugh

out in the dusky light

Nightlight Over Long Beach Island

our devices

glow like fireflies

and the night sky

pays no mind

it steers the ocean

to pound these shores

not knowing we’re alive

there is no magic formula

waiting to be revealed

no untapped powers

to absorb

only beauty

to let all heal

the secret

is to enjoy this sight,

to let this glory

be your light

so stop searching

for your soul to feed

this truth through beauty

is all you need

Proud Prayer of the Infidels

faithful

in dismissing these myths

embracing the appeal

of the sting of rough earth,

the carnal, the real

proud to be

that blast of cold air

to bring chaos

to the god sellers

and give chase

with that cold mind,

the blue chill

of cold white reason

so feared

and so great

By the Guiding Light of the Ozone Sky

on a city street

like a secret rendezvous

the velvet sky

calls to us,

its glow

as its calling card

and victory sign

for us alone

we will overcome

profane existence

and be that speed healer,

the secrecy dealer, soldier

and saver of savaged souls,

the harbinger of doom

for doubt,

assassin

of false virtue

and all else

that poisons dreams

we pledge

before this dawn sky

to be life’s avenger,

the reckoning to come,

to redeem the mad nomads

and beaten down dreamers

forever

Time-ripe Ninja Commuter Disguise

the time-ripe ninja

stealth assassin

sent to dispatch

legions of false faces

makes her way

through the metropolis

shrouded in the skin

of the slouched commuter

on the train

cold

to the homeless man

seeking alms in vain

all the while

in stolen moments

scribbling the puzzle pieces

to let loose

the hounds of greatness

they march triumphant

clenched jaws trailing blood

into immortality

Mud Soup

churning churlish

under canopy of trees

at the quiet park

summer streets simmer

while temptint rain

the only Dad here

hiding under a sweaty hat

trying not to gawk

at the fit mom

breastfeeding

and the cool dirt

speaks to me

when the girls pile it

to build their castle

we endure all shapes

of absurdities

to give our blood kin

an edge,

grateful we no longer

have to kill for it

the girls

make their quiet father

mud soup

I pretend to sip it

—delicious—

as I wait

to unleash their ambition

upon the world

Lunch Walk

Less time than a prison yard

but more

to put under gaze.

We seek to be invisible,

dissipate

into the summer haze.

Work piles up

while we breath fresh air

for our only fun.

Let the scene to be seen

turn and blister

in the sun.

Wear eight hats

and pulled

every which way.

We let work eat up

too much of our day.

Someday

we’ll go on our lunch walk

to stay.   

Cloud Language

spy the sultry dusk

billows,

an intimate ceiling

burning paths

for living dreams

thank with a knowing wink

that cloud cover,

letting us hunt

in that first light

without a burning glare

eyes wide to drink it in,

that beauty that makes us mad

and forever fleeting,

made with water in air

Gotham Guide Stones

grandeur and gutter

in two short streets

consuming sights

indifferent

to the time

we try to keep

glittering glass

on sidewalk and sky

wearing a stone mask

but searching

every face that passes by

armies of strangers

spin their dances

like demons possessed

angry undercover poets

blind

to how they are blessed

Engine

the promise of future fire

in the night-ripe sky

burns its mark

on our slumber

the pull

to be that knowing passenger

feeling the alien hum

and know the power

unleashed

to throw the dice

and risk your neck,

the cusp and taste

            of death

lets you truly live

At Kerouac’s Grave

surrounded by death

and crumbling Lowell

but we’re ready

to embrace it all

to love America

like the mad poets

of ti Jean’s dreams

we shake our white-knuckle fists

at the frowning gawkers

at the indifferent universe

at the cold stars

from our smoldering Earth

we laugh again

refueled in our crazed minds

ready to live harder

and burn in ethereal magic light

across the face of the world

Irish Women

starlight beauty

drawn to kiss lightly

over every freckle

glowing face,

smile a shining emerald

of lost lands

smooth strong arms

shaped

to carry babies and muskets

eyes alight

with the power

of sweat-drenched promises

and closed for a kiss

that can keep it all going

another thousand years

Alley Walk

strange light

from spring rain twilight

guiding odd characters

seeking refuge from the sun

spreading ethereal glow

across quiet rooftops,

and empty street corners

where wood-tar telephone poles

stand silent sentry

this light

brings the muses

to Earth,

it dances away

before we can give it voice

inspiring, torturing

the youthful heart

that burns to spark life

from all of it 

Rocky Neck

art plied honestly

in sweat and heat

hard wrought

beside the sun-kissed lobstermen

waving gracefully

to rough locals

and soft tourists

where joyous newlyweds

sketch their own future

panel by panel

muck deep

in tiny horseshoe crabs

scrambling in low tide pools

away from baby girls

where dogs swim

beside the private beaches

and the rich sands

are slick

with stubborn seaweed carpets

let’s be worthy of this place,

may we have the good sense

to live lives

as beautiful as this

Camden, Maine

quilted sky

glittering silently,

winking a thousand times

to the iron visitors

constellation

of houses

are sentries

to the cooing loons

and grunting bullfrogs

by day

the sun-kissed bodies

drift by

in casual boats,

soaking in the trees

and the sea-salt air

harbor chatter

in vacation tongue,

tolerant locals

measure patience

one tourist at a time