Last Night’s Dream, with Revisions

I rummaged through a ransacked house

which I somehow knew was mine

until I stopped to trim the lamp’s toenails.

It was then I noticed the duck’s half-head

glaring malice from its lonely eye.

I hoped the marauders had gone,

but the next moment hoped they hadn’t,

for the fear kept me blissfully sleeping,

clippers in hand, under the mallard’s gaze. 

Nine Non-Autobiographical Lines

The trumpeter blew madness

into the humid Houston night,

and over your padded shoulder

I saw pink flamingos flying

North toward Oklahoma.

At that exact, awkward moment,

I finally came to realize jazz

And ornithology really don’t mix

Anymore than love and memory do.

Lonely Haiku #9

After Thanksgiving

moon lurks in a clear, high sky,

my cold companion.

After looking at photos of old friends

You say you knew me when,

but when you say you knew me

that wasn’t quite me you knew,

nor for that matter were you you,

were you?

If we could travel time

as in certain confusing films

to moments when we intersected,

would we recognize one another?

I can’t say. 

Perhaps in the future

things will become clearer,

we’ll see each other more fully

and finally know some truth.

It could happen.

In the meantime,

why don’t you give me a call?

theology #9

so after dinner

we spoke of the saints

their poor yet smoldering eyes

eccentric habits

poor housekeeping

magnificent martyrdoms

general lack of humor

meditated on their miracles

possible roles as mediators

until the wine ran out

and the sun came up

and we beheld each other

in the early morning

across the table

table surrounded

by bleary saints

After Studying Apostolic Succession, I Go Outside and Look at the Stars

At one point,

The Catholics and the Orthodox

Mutually excommunicated

One another—

“You can’t fire me, I quit!”

The Crab Nebula was unworried,

Continued its perpetual dying.

The laying on of hands,

The slipping from one body to another

Of some ancient mystery,

Elusive responsibility

Moving from flesh into flesh

Under the distant, distracted eyes

Whose light is only now arriving.

The conventional image is a fire

In the form of a bird or a tongue

Falling from Heaven and through a man

And from there into another man.

And so on and so on and so.

My dog sniffs at some leaves.

I touch my head and something happens.

and a grace came upon me

thirteen pigeons

on the performing arts center roof

not performing yet centered

near the apex of the pyramid

dark against early november dusk

gracie rolls in the clover

outside the deserted library

leaves stick to her thick coat

bury themselves in her beard

but she smells momentarily sweet

the honor society inductees

and their smiling families

vacate the auditorium in clusters

across the campus their chatter

wafts on the warm, leafy breeze

the pigeons still stand guard

over the sleepy sunday afternoon

occasionally a wing flashes dull green

or one marches chaplinesque

down or back up the slanting

i release gracie from her leash and

lie down in the bright leaves

outside the english building, pile

them over and around me

no one’s found me yet

Prior to the Breakup

Two pair of shoes

Stare at opposite walls,

Tongues folded tightly away.

The First Happy Morning after Tragedy

Morning flutters

Over twitching eyelids,

Curtains dancing

An orange tango.

Not far beneath

But galaxies away

Thanatos and Eros

Kill and copulate

Amidst strangers

With quite plaid eyes,

While old friends and lovers

Negotiate the beauties

That keep blood young,

Stumbles at bay,

The dance—now a waltz—

Rippling the half moons.