JERSEY GIRL: A RESPONSE (THE LONG VERSION OR: IF YOU POST IT AT THE RED HOUSE, I WILL READ EVERY WORD YOU WRITE UNTIL THE DAY I DIE BECAUSE I LOVE YOUR WRITING, THOUGH I WISH YOUR PRODUCTIVITY WASN'T DUE TO MY SINS, NEGLIGENCE, AND MISDEEDS ) :)

How arrogant of you,

I thought, to think

she might still

be looking. And yet

I was looking myself,

so who can tell?

And yes, I worried

about how it looked

because I knew

how sharp she was, 

how perceptive,

even when she was wrong.

As she is now.

I worried because I know

how she tortures

herself, how her fertile,

romantic mind makes

those exponential leaps,

how her imagination sizzles

with images, scenarios,

with passionate and fiery

possibilities.

In some ways, it’s one of

her best qualities.

But even though 

I’d been thinking

silence 

was best, 

having already caused her 

more than enough pain and heartache,

I could not bear the thought

of her experiencing even more 

because of me, especially

when there was no basis for it.

So please make no mistake:

there are no

good morning messages

from New Jersey

(I swear on my life)

or from anywhere else

please know

there is only a single

set of moon & stars

still hanging on the universe

of my office wall

& floating through

the cosmos

of my heart.

and when the

bathroom door

closes, I promise you,

New England has nothing

to do with it. 

And further

make no mistake:

Because no yellow star arcs

its way across the sky

each evening

tying here to there,

I am left grieving

and lost on the edge

of this lonely coast

with no tether

to the Earth.

and further make

no mistake:

the most romantic thoughts

I have right now
(1/22/15)

concern

An unfolding rose

A floral print comforter

An empty park in the almost Spring

And those slatted blinds

And do not even

make the mistake of 

not knowing 

that there is so much

that I miss.

Like all of it.

But even in the midst

of my own private

and painful emptiness

I still know there

are times
(like now)

when

the most awful choice

is best, and really, the
only thing I've learned lately
is that there is
no good way
to break a heart.

JERSEY GIRL: A RESPONSE (THE SHORT VERSION)

I swear on my life:

there are no

good morning messages

from New Jersey

or anywhere else

for that matter

only a single

set of moon & stars

hangs on the universe

of my office wall

& floats through

the cosmos

of my heart.

and when the

bathroom door

closes

New England has nothing

to do with it. 

LOOK CLOSER

There is a world

beneath our world

where the windchimes dance

and ring

where silver sparrows whisper 

the eulogies of dying leaves

where the nearby traffic 

grumbles its way into its

smoggy oblivion

where the orange tree

stands at mute attention,

but casts a daring look

at the nearby swarm 

of hovering bees.

There is a world

beneath our world

where roses hum like a choir,

their outstretched petals raised

in reverance, their 

harmonies pure and tight. 

It is a world where the wind, 

like a genie's carpet, 

flies in and sails by us, 

fluttering the hairs on our flesh, 

and where  the sun

when it moves but an inch, alters 

the multitudinous shadows.

It is a world beneath

our world that is always

alive, but is only truly

witnessed in the silence

of our profound stillness.

JOHN (Draft #5)

You dropped to 

the kitchen floor

and once again

no one could

save you, not even

the wife you kept

in the closet with 

your useless suits.

You used to say

don't hold back

give it to me

straight

then lie to us

with what was

left of your tongue.

At the memorial,

those of us

who were loyal

and loved you gathered

at your stone in remembrance;

we passed 

around the flask,

and swallowed each 

burning drop

like a kind of Communion. 

Smiling, we saved 

the last for you, pouring 

a hit right into the vase 

with the flowers. Later, 

we told stories 

as we watched the red, 

annotated balloons 

lift into the sky.

You know, John, 

I'll give it to you 

straight one last time: 

we loved you as well

as you let us,

said goodbye

as best we could.

JOHN

You dropped to 

the kitchen floor

and once again

no one could

save you, not even

the wife you kept

in the closet with 

those useless suits.

you used to say

don't hold back

give it to me

straight

then you would

lie to us with what

was left of your 

tongue. At the

memorial, those 

of us who were loyal

and loved you

gathered at your

stone; we passed 

around the flask,

swallowed each 

burning drop

of the borrowed whiskey

as if it was Communion. 

Smiling, we saved 

the last for you, and poured 

a hit right into the vase 

with the flowers. Later, 

we told stories 

as we watched the red, 

annotated balloons 

lift into the sky.

You know John, 

I'll give it to you 

straight one last time: 

we said goodbye

as best we could.

COMMUNITY THEATER

Who knew we were 

performing for our

neighbors, who themselves

were actors in 

the show we were watching

on the flat screen in

our living room?

Was it only our piercing

imagination that 

made this art possible

or is every edifice

on the cul-de-sac

a facade, lit by

leikos or fresnels?

Sometimes I think 

winter is a type 

of intermission

all by itself and 

the rain  is nothing

but applause.

LAUGHING WINTER

amused 

by the chill

the rain 

chuckles

in the 

alleyway