Three poems





sticky room temperature and
orange bits float within
the serial number on the backside
I ate you
and now
sitting at my desk,
you remind me

of my inverted breasts,
hanging like icecream cones
on a warm summer day

Le Mardi Gras


The last fool dances wildly
A crazy man by the gas lamp
On Bourbon street
His arms are up, his knees
Are bent
Ad the odd small umbrella in his hand
Is striped in green and

Above, the balcony strewn with beads
Made of bakelite, and so many
Masked revelers.
They fill the ballroom,
With its French door spilling light,
Against aged copper filigree, oxidized to that
Particular shade of green.

Two naked women in view, dancing.
And someone has placed a Venetian mask
On an old stray
Cat, black.
He is wandering down
Bourbon Street,
Waiting for the night to end.




After Dylan Thomas (portrait of the artist as a young dog)

Cart of green, green cart, green of grasses limb
It was in the fourth month, late in the day
The brother of my parent, known as Jim
basket by the bar, a piglet at bay.

Awakened at dark odd hours, dreams of snakes
Never before in my grandfather’s home
Squeak of mice, I knew was merely floor shakes
About my head, the sheets pulled up in dome

Little and young, male child in car not there
Up upon metal drum barrels she stands
Her head now seen in mirrored fragments glare
Then and now too, he hears, his ear kept manned

By myself, I sat on that passage cart
Yelled/ spoke/ bellowed/ cried out/ my lips, apart














Copyright � 2005