i am NOT a poem


we are people a parade bold and polite they...are playing a waiting game he is Jack a working-man shouldering his barrel in life oaken and full and lonesome full of the only thing he values in their world: himself she is barely a girl hardly a sinner always a surprise quite a woman I am not some words and YOU are just a dream a welcome relief, a tight unexpectancy among the squirrels among the maple trees but sometimes when we're all (alone) just for fun (and tax-free) for a change that makes us SMILE not for laughs (they're too cheap and loud) we switch roles (eagerly) we re not just things on a thing but in the end....

i am NOT a poem

you are JUST (a dream i carry with me) and i am NOT (a poem)

there's no woman--like the beauty of a rebel-woman waiting leaning against some ruined, old hotel for tourists (food for the baby...water for washing....) tired the mortars came like a returning plague (maybe...they were always there... waiting in the back-streets...counting... another witch-hunt, burning-skin again....) and she can smell another faceless winter stepping closer shock sometimes her body just cries out the sweat and the outside world keeps humming along busy selling paper for bonds for electricity for steel for bullets (enough is enough) don't whisper in young Joan's ear don't kindly explain to Mary and don't even try to tell Eve that there's a war going on....

canadians aren't americans europeans are not italians (e gatti non sono cani) wise-guys arnota computer programmers bingo-chicks ain t never no hockey goalies and trains R-not planes but some of them at twilight on a loosely holy day when the cops (who are definitely not art teachers) ain't lookin', but are sure busy dunkin', and the hour (which is not an eternity) is suddenly special... well...then some of them... sure enjoy... the happy confusion................

a silk diamond

un diamante di seta
in la città di notte ma questa volta con un grosso sacco pieno di sassi vieni con me un paio di notte monta sulla mia barca di latte mel cento volte piu bella

adamas bombycis
urbs noctis cum magno sacco mecum veni

a silk diamond in the city of night but this time with a big bag full of stones come with me for just a couple of nights jump on my milk boat honey girl you're a hundred times prettier than any other skin bones


we're all lost siamo tutti perduti but with your silk and my diamond we noi can fly (better than any old city farmer....) meglio ((can you smell the wet air...bite the soft stars....))

sed nos

coffee under the sun the tree in me truth breaks the boundary a strong new wall trains join together sliding sausages chickens in the factory en attendant godot a present: water words (to fill my greedy pockets) handful after sweaty handful the accepting is (also) a present

i prefer bums to bikers or salesmen why do the bums like downtown so much when everything's cheaper in the suburbs? (the houses.the wives.the synchronicity) bums like company and bums like other bums (cherry red is nice) nearby like they think they're a religious order or a cyber-city so i grabbed my blonde-babe and we co-grabbed the subway to go downtown for some over-due mischief (she's a proper (delicious) terror: whenever she wrecked 'em: she bought 'em) we got on where the line stops and this normal suburb-chick got on too i nudged my little love: the well-dressed chick was STANDING in an almost empty (except for us) subway car (if picasso could only see her now....)

downtown at the old eaton centre (with the ads: come see toronto) we saw drummers with garbage cans+living statues+los incas (exactly the same ones we saw in paris) and there was the subway-chick standing in her new, filthy work-clothes begging and bumming on a busy corner (i confess: i was: surprised) she looked right past us quickly without even missing a bum-beat i guess bums have a job to do too i guess politicians are necessary (just like whores in a farce) i guess they're guessing too... like an e-note droning.... i guess the world comes at me in distinct packages (and they're all wrapped up for comfort) (all the packages: bums+bikers +salesmen+whores +babies+grannies +uniforms+suits+nudes +me+you (of course)) bums... where would we be without them.... (but don't ask me)

i don't normally iron a shirt or two i do 10 or 12 at a time it gets done and i'm free for a couple of weeks so last night, with one clean ironed shirt hanging in my closet, the shirts said: what's the matter? don't feel like ironing tonight? go away don't bother me not in the mood tonight? is the magic gone? leave me alone, i tell ya (you¶re such a pain) are you ironing some shirt at work? so i got out some german beer, the spanish movie started, and i ironed 8 dress shirts, 2 denim, and two others i should throw out very very soon poor sultans, poor mormons, and poor roosters imagine a dozen do-you-really-really-love-me's? a dozen wives? on a dozen diets? with a dozen roses? each? a dozen new hair-dos, all with new dresses? can you even imagine a dozen mothers-in-law? i'm getting...a terrific headache

there was good, old Big Bird corporate around i walked Pele and Cher sharing the new sacred malls i saw Barbie too the happy bars i it was her i swearsaw Elvis timeless streets in theI great greasy supersuburbs then i walkedswear it was him neighbourhood through the old (trading histhe Ripper, desperate and Vegas pills) Tupelo voice for their Las thirsty i saw Jack where my school used to be i saw Marilyn too Cary Grant, so cool, Tyler Moore and there was Mary so lucky posing curly Shirley Temple and hustling Pete Rose smiling like only yesterday can as if Everyman loved her who proudly only ever rentman true and Mary gotta pay the read two books Magdalene there was Thor in a passing limo just look around for yourself Yoda and Einstein staring at each other i saw Bogart: tough, human, flawed, hatted (somesometime eternal) people are and King Lear solo, if you don't and feel are ((some things we do believe me not exactly raging against women Superman dancing unique)) and theanother Cinderella world withDracula and the weather i saw dreaming darkly i saw lietall Ringoeverywhere a (simply) abandoned andanswers smoking, planning his escape Gandalf Julius surrounded a Olive Oyl Laurels i watched an couple of chatting up a Sherlock T. S. Eliot etherised waiting for Cliff arguing about and a Norm and a a Hardy and Jacqueline Bouvier all of the above Mae West and Mr. Clean whether they should eat or drink next lonely some are firm believers on the same public bench and Mother Theresa, Lucy playing along and some are merely and Groucho my God! the people i anyway (the show must go until the bell sounds saw! (the things i've done!)

i saw Elvis (the show must go on....)