Bald Mountain

I was at the Pebble Beach Concours de Elegance
and my mind was blown
by the private reserve upon
which so few lived
in the hills outside of Monterey

the perfect grass and the perfect jug band
were perfectly positioned
near the symetrical splay of Hors d'oeuvre
in the aromatic nestle of some valley
with little shrubs like those on my
uncle's train set diorama

A heart felt hello to my father's gay friends
from far away lands
and as they sized me up
I shifted the subject of conversation
from that of prowess
to that of progeny, progress
and the man's Peking to Paris adventure
in a 1938 something or other

and I wandered off to the third coffee
of the evening
and my mind wandered off to a darkened Broadway
where I held her hand but it wasn't quite right

and then my thoughts turned to my
new love
the round-faced girl whose eyes
are cool pools of aquamarine
flanked by the fairest, milkiest skin

and I made a noise that I thought
a baby dinosaur might make
and I smiled

One Million Earths

It was a concerted effort,
the parking job

I watch football
and I believe in miracles

yet

it only takes one twist of the Knob
Creek bottle top

to

fumble the worldly wise
juggling act - I'm caught

redeeming for penny
fish
in Zip-loc bags

and after the confetti
settles

I remember the sun
fits one million earths

The Poorest Brahmin

"He's the poorest Brahmin you've ever seen."

The Fig tree
in the wind
a million leaves
shimmer

"He's the poorest Brahmin you've ever seen."

a multifaceted
synergy:
office parks
on fire

"He's the poorest Brahmin you've ever seen."

the thunderstorm track
in the produce aisle
with the hourly misting
strobe lighting, too

"He's the poorest Brahmin you've ever seen."

the lunch, broken
This is my Body
the cooler, broken
This is my Blood

"He's the poorest Brahmin you've ever seen."

For Willie T

Racoons in the alley
swatting knats in the
Nashville light pollution

and I'm moved to a creation
myth

it's about a boy turned tortoise
and when he rested; the cosmic

river swelled and Jones'd for
the easiest path,

a demiurgic TVA
drawn toward a three-star

moment
of triumph over a stagnation

so characteristic of the Devil -
the great agitator!
The great I Can't.