wiser but never older . . .

AND/OR

a slight return

remember, remember that eternal ember . . .

the moment we entered the magic theater and

nearly got lost forever. again.

simple curiosity, we looked once more

through the pot haze and madness

of the clatter, some song was playing, whatever

it was it didn’t matter,

but it happened one moment and the party had

become as silent as our exchange that

night had been, avoiding you avoiding me

because the moment wasn’t right as a couple

who expected us to reach out were waiting to

steal that locking of eyes they secretly Feared and

severely under-rated and misinterpreted

as a denial of their places in our hearts of them.

but it was, as it had always been, a secret, an inside

joke for us. an escape into a nation of 2

to stare our Minotaur down and run laughing

along with it over rolling iridescent hills,

the sun the moon and one brilliant star guiding

an unlighted path from within you, to me,

a temporary reprieve and a filter to turn the static

of our workday into a slow, simple jazz beat . . .

our retreat, nothing more. home was as it was before,

maybe even a little fresher, though naturally

a bit more distant from the stars than when we

had left it the day before.

and it happened again, randomly but perfectly, you

should emerge, when neither one of us expected,

wanted it or hoped for it. lost as we journeyed through

the sleepless night to understand once more, that

sometimes escape truly is good enough for the

wise. the bees gathered honey and returned to their

respective hives unaltered on the surface, but

forever changed by the return to that nation and the

shower of its brilliant starlight.

09.30.2009

8=

Eva’s Armada
"I wonder who first discovered the efficacy of poetry in driving away love." --Jane Austen

that you’ve become a symbol
of everything I’ve ever wanted
but couldn’t have is the principle
by which my madness has
grown—the real blame might
be some polymorphism on
the G72/G30 gene locus or
perhaps that I stopped believing
in God when I was six, but there’s
no poetry in that. and poetry
is all I have.

for better or worse, you will
always be the queen of my world:
an emanation of Beauty
transposed and transfigured,
1,000 ships couldn’t match
the force of Eva’s armada:
a standard no woman could
ever hope to live up to.

perhaps,
even you.
8.6.09

Kangaroo Philes

when I was a boy, 7 maybe 8, I was

lost at the Miami Beach Convention Center.

a local celebrity looked at me, after

he asked this simple question.

he asked what does kangaroo mean in

the native tongue, he held the microphone to me,

alone since I’d wandered off and lost my

mother’s hand like

I usually did out in public.

looking at that million dollar smile

and game show host gleam in the

dapper dude’s eye, I shrugged and

said, “I dunno?” and he stood up and raised

one arm, like sending a flock

of birds in flight and told me I was right.

I won a T-shirt for whatever radio or television station

he was working for. that’s the first thing I ever

won.

so, when I begin at the beginning, like

my first muse Alice, I find not a rabbit,

but a jumping dancing boxing kangaroo

with shiny mirrored eyes,

my face reflecting back at me in

funhouse distortion.

7.10.03

myth becomes fable becomes the dream . . .

H=8

old poem I stumbled upon looking for a one-eyed lemur

Words without Noise

words are never enough to circle

the world or your heart; there’s

always static transmissions from

alien worlds or from unanswered

calls in empty apartments.

but even from signals gone silent

or swept away by the breeze a

hand is touched and an eye is whispered

into with a gentle breath.

words without noise, like the ocean

unblue, an ungiven gift I

give to you.

9.24.02

new one, dedicated to the Muse

Paranoia and Playing Cards

Ray Timmins

it’s taken years to shuffle the demons to

the bottom of the deck. I hate card tricks and the

lowly prestidigitators that flaunt their trite craft

on street corners, bars and any other place

I simply do not want to be confronted by

strangers.

but the Queen of Hearts keeps showing up,

she stares at me, asking where her Suicide King has gone,

pestering me. I toss her away and I pull another

card only to find her again. and again. and again.

where did my King of Hearts go? she asks and I rip

her up. how the hell should I know?

then I can’t sleep for days, my arm goes numb. I

search the deck for this damn King and he is

nowhere to be found. not like I care or anything:

I just want to get some sleep.

I pull her again from the deck and she stares,

saying nothing. I rip her into a million pieces (which

takes as long as one might expect) and go to bed.

I awake with a toothache that lasts for days and

I can see the Queen of Hearts smiling this time

when I pull her from the deck. half-witted and

half my face and brain raging with pain, I toss her out

the window.

a Siamese cat, 28 stories down (I spy with my

telescope) picks it up between it’s teeth. I hear

the doorbell. I answer it and the kitty drops the

card at my feet. the Queen stares at me, disappointed.

I roll my eyes and toss her over my shoulder. then she let’s

me have it, an all out verbal assault. but I don’t listen.

drama queens . . . blah, blah, blah . . .

I cry. my toothache doesn’t seem so bad. and now

I never wish to sleep again. but I do, the neurochemicals

consume me and I drift off into a dreamless reverie.

one is remains open.

I awake to the pretty kitty rubbing against my leg, that

Siamese who had found her way up 28 floors to

bring me back that damn card I keep trying to rid myself of.

she urges me out of bed and leads me into the

kitchen. she hops up on the counter and

jumps into a cupboard. I stare, bewildered.

as I’m about to refocus and make a morning brew,

I notice a card in between her teeth. I take it,

reluctantly but don’t look at it till after my morning

cup o’ joe (which is wonderful, by the way).

I sit down and stare at the ceiling for no good

reason. the cat pounces on my lap and meows, purring.

I purr back. then I remember the card!

“it’s the Queen of Hearts, I bet,” I tell the kitty, though

she doesn’t understand my language. I turn the card over:

it is the King of Hearts! my heart races, I jump for

joy! I do cartwheels and dance my ass off. I look

for the Queen of Hearts card to tell her that I found her

Suicide King.

but she is nowhere to be found. I plop down on

the couch (as I always do). the couch gives a little

but remains intact (which is good—my dad would

kill me if I broke his old, reliable couch), clutching

the card to my heart. I cry for days. weeks. months

straight, till I am near complete dehydration and

my skin turns crinkly and I turn into dust.

I awake again and look desperately at this card.

I notice the sword is behind his head, not stabbing

through it. I want to tell the Queen of Hearts—no, I

want to show her. but she is nowhere to be found.

I put the King of Hearts in my shirt pocket, where

a pack of smokes would go and continue to stare

at the ceiling. it begins crumbling, as does the

foundation of the immaculate skyscraper that I began

building when I was a kid to make a home fit

for the likes of me. the building is solid, save for

my small efficiency on the 28^th floor. but I will never

cry about. I can only laugh as my world falls

apart, the sky opening up. I grab my telescope

again (always comes in handy) and peer through

it. amidst the stars and the expanse of the

universe madly spinning I see a lone playing card

fluttering down, down, down. forever falling.

I wait, smiling, hoping it’s the card I seek. the Queen

of Hearts, the queen of my world, and the counterpart

to the card resting warm in my shirt pocket. I want

to show her that I found what she had been seeking

all the time I ignored her insistent stares.

the card still flutters aimlessly but seems

to be getting closer. hopefully, I can just reach her

by the time I need to make my final escape

from this sad old building. and give her back the

king she has longed to reconcile with that she had

lost so long ago.

and I still hate card tricks, but this is one illusion

I will stake my life on, and spend the rest of my

days trying to figure it out.

if need be.

9.9.2009