Why There is Light at Night

Every morning Spider and his family wake with a sweet tooth.
Theirs is a hunger that stems from deep night dreams.
Spider, his two sons, and wife Aso, wake craving the tallest tree fruit -
which is the only cure for a morning sweet tooth.

Each morning, Spider and his family look up to the trees
and day dream of the sweets that are only the birds' to eat.
Spider says, "If only I had wings, I could beat those birds to the sweet!"

So Spider and his boys decided to build some wings.

They went to the ground and gathered feathers dropped in flight
And took them to the town magician in the blackest of night.
In magician - magic speak,
Spider was told "Flight is a dangerous thing -
if the birds catch you there will be no sweet."

But Spider's ears were full of echos from his family's sweet tooth
and he secretly laughed at the magician's advice saying,
"Those birds won't know, we'll blend in with our fallen wing flight!"

So Spider and his boys built themselves some wings.
But in flying off each and every night,
the magician's magic speak came back
with the birds pecking and cawing, shreeking
"Swweeet! Swweeet Sweeeeeeeet! Sweeet!"

Those birds chased Spider and his boys straight back to the ground.
Where they crawled, humbled home, to Aso who shook her head
saying "Spiders aren't birds."

Spider went to bed dreading his morning sweet tooth,
but he dreamt this dream now that sure cleared his head.

Spider dreamt that he was a bird circling the morning sky -
looking for something tasty, crunchy, and sweet to eat.
Seeing the fruit, Spider soared down from the sky and
pecked three big holes in each fruit side.
But Spider didn't taste the sweetness of fruit,
he crunched on the sweetness of bugs from the fruit!!!

Spider woke with a start and turned to his wife.
"We are spiders my dear and do as we do,
let's spin us a web to catch them some food!"

So Spider and his family went quietly to work,
spinning a web that would cover the sky
to trap the birds favorite food:
the big butt fire fly.

Days upon days
the spiders kept spinning -
until a gaint web covered the night,
trapping, for the birds, delectible balls of light.

The fire flies were trapped by the time morning birds woke,
and they feasted on lights, while Spider and his family feasted on fruit.

From that day on,
the spiders kept spinning,
the web kept on growing,
and both the spiders and birds feasted on gold.

caught

i could feel the beginnings -
no resistantance, no push to create,
just a ripple between us
now a ripple in space -

momentary vibrations
for which i will wait.

The Church at 4th and Christian

I sat among aged old wood today
and cried as whiffs of decay
floated out from among the rafters.
The space was ours for a time,
but last night came the gunshots, the searchlight,
and today the rattling of barracaded doors.

This afternoon, when I climbed the stairs
and sat among the aged old wood after everyone had gone,
I saw -
above our sanctuary, above my head
the roof was caving in.

There among the aged wood I cried for
the gunshots, searchlights, and the sound of your retreating footsteps.
I sat, after everyone had gone,
and cried for the playing space
that had once housed faith.

free

some day
the flashdance queen
will come out
of what was once
you and me

Suspended

There is a moment
when time stops
when the clock explodes
and you are suspended
by the second hand
when the battery dies
and that second hand
pauses
holding you up
threatening
to drop you
back into the monotonous
tick tock tick tock
of motion.
But
there is that moment
when time stops,
when time ceases to
control the rules of existance
and you fall, hang, live
suspended in passion,
in breath,
with eyes watching
waiting
for the moment
when it all begins
again.
Echos of that
tick tock tick tock
fade to black
fade to light
breaking the
boundries of
rules
that have governed
time.
There is a moment
of stillness
that lasts
a second, a minute,
a hour, a day.
Stillness that
captures
passion, breath
the life
snapshots that
sometimes, often times
are missed
by the second hand
in its humdrum
tick tock tick tock
of time.
But there are the moments
when all bets are off,
the rules have been
shattered
and stillness is
inevetible.

Pucker Up

A quick note to one Salvador Dali:

You scare me.
I've seen your paintings
the broken black telephones hung from dead and decaying trees,
swans made of bones with the souls of dancers trapped in their rib cages,
not to mention the red, boiled lobster...phone???
Who knows. All I know is that
your exhibits make my head spin
to the point where I have to sit down.
Which I did, on one lush, plush, crimson sofa at the Philadelphia Museum of Art.
I sat, my head spinning, until approached by a security guard who said,
"Miss, your sitting on the exhibit."
Oh!!!
I look and there, two lush, plush crimson lips of one Mae West.
Mae West, a luscious vaudeville star
who, like Marilyn Monroe captivated her audiences with
the power of her body.
By selling the movement of her hips, her lush red lips, and her soul
Mae West climbed to the top, and remains there
a suspended goddess.
To think, my ass and her class.
My ass and her class.
My ass and her class.
In that moment, Salvador Dali, my head stopped spinning
and I thought...

Pucker up Mae West,
there’s something in the water.

Oil on the surface
beautiful in its separateness,
yet deadly in its own right.

Covering the surface,
oil is always one to reflect the light.

Pucker up Mae West
there’s something under my skin.

Relentless as probing fingers
pushing
driving
me
to become
the oil,
to reflect the light
and to … sep - a - rate.

Pucker up Mae West
I’m the one to watch.

With just one,
simple promise -
I am the oil
deadly in my own right.
discrete, all-knowing,
guilty in my
reflection… of the light.

So, pucker up Mae West.
You fooled them once,
I can do it twice.
Pucker up
Pucker up

Kiss your legend
while I kiss my soul

goodbye.

City Paper

(Three Haikus)

The Dove
My love, one true love
you are the wings white and bright –
that fly peace above.


The Pigeon
Spreading diseases
flying rat of New York City:
you consume my heart.


The Peacock
Dance it, strut your stuff,
get me hot, all riled up.
Here I come, undone.

A Simple Ploy

He is a snake-eyed, coiled boy
a grace-less, sexy, comic
who tickles the girls. A feathered toy.

His manner is covertly coy,
to take the girls to bed each day.
He is a snake-eyed, coiled boy.

In Starbucks he calls: Make it soy!!!
A grande, three pump, soy latte
that tickles the girls; a feathered toy.

His slick, quick moves slide in - destroy
even the most tantric play-
He is a snake-eyed, coiled boy.

He divides the girls, this subtle boy-
and war begins - dividing way,
it tickles the girls; a feathered toy.

He loves, and revels the mask of Boy,
hiding in wait – a simple ploy
He is a snake-eyed, coiled boy
tickling the girls. A feathered toy.

Stonehenge

An amazing grace
covers a throne of bones
in the late afternoon light

in a time when
domination and
forests of eroticism
can be found in the
classifieds-

A labyrinth of cypresses-
the second backdrop to
that throne of bones-
tickles our minds

Was it sky-dancers?
Giants? Fairies?
Pananoiac delusions
ripple the bones

yet still
after all the
improvised costumes
and its
immense success

An amazing grace
(still)
covers that throne of bones
through the late afternoon light

So let us dance
as the sky-dancers danced-
let us imagine
a Mid Summer's Night-
where we are
covered in that
same amazing grace-
flooded in the late afternoon light.

submergence

SKIPPING STONES

skipping stones
vibrate, pulsate
through your bones

cool air biting
sea gulls screaming
your heart beating
pushing, pumping
with thoughts fleeting

this moment
this spiriling cone
whispers simply...
home

skipping stones

THE ENIGMA OF HITLER

Something intriguing about
the miscommunication of
apolitical stance.

Broken black telephones whisper

archaic and suspended hissing a dead line

speaking civilly about
Peace in our time

while untold human suffering

out beyond the breakers
the banned plays on and on.

Under the etheral umbrella

stands inevitability

the collapse of culture
suspended by
political significance.

from the computer lab

red
blistering
boils
fester
as temperatures
glide
up up
up

up up
up
breezes

stagnant
move
across the
highway

with fingers fidgiting
flittering almost dancing
searching out contact
commitment
Answers

How can anyone work in this heat?
Nature of the beast, he says
smiling his rotting smile
his tar stained cane
banging, bruising,
brushing
against
my leg

Ice crystals have always demanded my undivided attention.

Reminded of a a contract
from so long ago
temperatures rise
as descending
I fall
up,
up,
up.

">

untitled

I love the expectant faces

I love the structure of authority

a wolf in sheep's clothing

I love sleeping with my eyes open

I love Guatamalian literature

no real space, no real connection

Stay Engaged.

Moving from moment to moment

tuesday, wednesday, thursday

resistance to stagnation

friday, saturday, sunday

the sharpness of it

monday

Stay Engaged.

Let it surprise you

dilemma, solution, solution, dilemma

it's as simple as going out on the street.

Philadelphia -

let it surprise you

talking, talking, talking

Stay Engaged.