On Notice

I.

Aging 

is squatting

in a burned out building 

whose earthly real estate 

is worth more than 

the crumbling 

con

     s

     truc     tio

   n.

No 

one is coming

to rebuild 

us back to 

our former glory. 

II.

The eviction 

notice 

will be served 

without warning.

Surrounding 

landmarks will

evaporate to make 

room for the new.

Increasingly unfamiliar,

in just a few years,

we won't recognize 

our way back                                   home.

This is urban planning

of another kind.

Unkind.

III.

So busy 

becoming, that 

we forgot to 

notice we were 

all-ready 

history.

Lost in Layers

Tired stars 

burning crisply.

Peaceful corners

blown to   o       bli     vi                  on.

Hoping hopelessly,

but you know

things are slow

to change

Canvas stretch

-er pollack primed.

Pedantic notes,

eyes dripping

this is

my blood.

Your blood.

My blood.

Your blood.

It will be

over when 

its all-over. 

Popular Standard

                             PRESCRIPTIONS   

CANDY

CIGARS                                                      ICE

                                                                  time

NEWS PAPERS                                         CREAM

MAGAZINES

     Two                         bobbed socks

     ga-Zeldas               lean           

     While                      rising hemlines

      Play                       pleated peekaboo

      With                      freckled knees.

     Infinite                  adolescence.

    Possibility           isn’t about a

   Tomorrow.          It's about the

   perfect rag        curl and     reminding

the camera that “I’ll never     smile 

   Again” is          L more       than NCHE

      just a                      popular

      stand-                   ard.

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Pillowing (after)

Brush away

C lo u ds 

clinging to 

eyelashes that hover 

morning mist-like to a

sleeping valley yet 

to be touched 

by day. 

A jumbled geography,

only you know

which is empyreal sky 

and which is 

a sturdy line of shore.

I want to bury my

wandering fingers 

in cool soft dunes. 

I anxiously await 

sunrise to work its

wondrous

warm ing.

A Controlled Burning (before)

Surrender to ascending 

silver skin begging 

for a treasure seeking 

mouth to murmur 

from an open 

chest 

Choose me! Choose Me! 

A glistening linear pair, 

we are the dawn. 

In corpus linguistics.

A heaving collocation 

of successful communication, 

we are permanently 

fixed. 

Ahoy! Incandescent 

pulsing electricity

heats in 

a chorus of screaming 

ON. 

Fire swept.

We work to

extinguish the woe 

of the world and smolder

in paradise knowing 

You chose me! You Chose Me!

Ever Becoming

                           Unceasing 

concentric circles 

concise casting 

3 by 

3 by 

3. 

With no start there 

is no end. Unity

infinity a space 

between worlds ever 

                               becoming. 

A limitless horizon, 

                              center standing,

face the direction 

that calls you 

home.

New points 

on an ancient compass.

In-vocation with dis-missals

put past 

in ash 

and circulate 

Your path has no map

Purgatory: A Sears Parking Lot in Florida as a Children's Slumber Party Rages at Home

For Pop Pop
I went on one of his famously long walks.
For Peter
I dedicated a song before hundreds because the show must go on.
For Christopher
I read about Zen and Motorcycles but found neither God or speed.
For dad
I sobbed in rush hour traffic because my car was a womb in which I was trapped.

So mom where will it be?
You know I hate surprises.

See title for the answer.