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about me
poet, technologist, cynic, father of five, child of chaos, punker, prankster, patriot, punster, leftist, latino, japanophile, audiophile, beer drinker, quiche eater, dog walker, soft talker, deep thinker, shallow sleeper, introvert, covert operative in a parallel universe.

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* m a y s t a r *
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  •  

    extra special bitter
    hops are bitter. life is bitter. coincidence?

    Tuesday, May 31, 2005

    sleepless night

    sleepless night —
    the absence
    of wind

     

    Monday, May 30, 2005

    memorial

    the darkness
    is one long
    windless nightmare,
    a serenade of ghosts
    in the sleeping treetops.

    time won’t let me
    look one inch
    beyond your daydream eyes
    until you snap to attention
    and disappear.

     

    Sunday, May 29, 2005

    lies and damned lies

    it seems an unwitting act of heroism to accept a less-than-optimal fate engineered by others, particularly if one of those others is a close relative. wisdom from experience is a dog-eared card from a Trivial Pursuit game. being consigned to feign ignorance of an inevitable conclusion seems so repugnant to me, and yet I relent. place the oxygen mask on your own face before helping others around you. assume the crash position, gripping your ankles with both hands, and kiss your ass goodbye.

     

    Saturday, May 28, 2005

    13 days

    13 days ’til payday —
    all those pennies
    in the fountain

     

    Friday, May 27, 2005

    lunch hour

    lunch hour —
    the cash machine
    eats my card

     

    Thursday, May 26, 2005

    after the storm

    after the storm —
    dead fly
    in a champagne glass

     

    Monday, May 23, 2005

    New England fog

    New England fog —
    where did
    my weekend go?

     

    Wednesday, May 18, 2005

    five sayings

    they say
    home is where
    you hang your hat.
    but I’ve never ever seen you
    wear a hat,
    which means to me
    that you might consider anywhere
    a potential home.

    they say
    it’s better to be lucky
    than good.
    I’ve never heard these words
    spoken by an unlucky man,
    and a good man knows better
    than to spout off
    ridiculous sayings.

    they say
    tomorrow’s another day,
    but when was the last time
    you saw tomorrow
    and demanded
    that it face you today?
    those of you with pens
    should write down today’s date.

    they say
    time loves a hero:
    words obviously written
    by someone younger,
    someone long on time
    and short on heroics.
    may you shun the latter
    and gain the former.
    that is my most sincere hope.

    they say
    hope is a cruel master.
    actually, they didn’t say it,
    I did.
    I say and do lots of things,
    few of them necessary
    but none of them
    as crucial,
    hopeful and cruel
    as my fatherly duty
    to simply let you go.

     

    Friday, May 13, 2005

    dandelions

    writing a poem
    for my daughter’s wedding —
    dandelions bloom

     

    Wednesday, May 11, 2005

    I just can't be happy today

    What’s wrong with me?

    It’s one of those Spring days that makes most normal people forget the New England winter, but I’m still focusing on the piles of road salt that only two months ago were heaped onto mountains of snow.

    About the best I can muster is:

    cloudless May sky —
    the sparkle
    of a broken beer bottle

    not even gold glitters as brightly as the aftermath of a Single Malt Stupor. then again, it might not be the weather at all...

    crab apple blossoms —
    my daughter
    plans her wedding

    or a non-seasonal take:

    planning my daughter’s wedding
    the TV asks
    “What’s in your wallet?”

     

    Monday, May 09, 2005

    Mother's Day

    Mother’s Day --
    wild lilacs
    outside the bar

    Mother’s Day --
    a wounded pigeon
    on the side of the road

    Mother’s Day --
    the roar of a jet
    above the clouds

     

    Sunday, May 08, 2005

    Main & Muscatel

    lost in the glitter
    of shattered glass,
    a ghost stealing kisses
    from a brown paper bag.
    a taste of broken cork
    and the love is over.
    nothing to do
    but to cry in the empty rail yard.
    no more promises to keep
    save tomorrow’s hangover.

     

    Thursday, May 05, 2005

    but seriously

    I should know better
    than to speak my mind,
    as if the sounds escaping my lips
    could somehow do more
    than echo in a lonely desert canyon
    not found on any map.
    I know now
    that it is more a function of distance
    than of time and place.
    I realize now
    that the shivering silence of my angst
    is the resounding amen
    of your incomprehensible bliss.

     

    what the surroundings do

    I see the future from forty-thousand feet
    and have this sudden urge to crash,
    miles from our destination
    and never further from the truth.
    the truth is
    that I really can distinguish
    the birdsong
    from the brainwashed hymn,
    and that somehow this objectivity
    disqualifies me.
    so many faces
    reflected in that tiny diamond,
    so many pairs of eyes
    insisting
    that I just stay out of the way.

     

    Wednesday, May 04, 2005

    May showers

    May showers —
    my daughter tells me
    she’s engaged

     

    Tuesday, May 03, 2005

    May Day

    May Day —
    my foot swollen
    from kicking the lawn mower

    May Day —
    somebody plays Elvis
    on the jukebox

    May Day —
    a co-worker tells me
    about his vasectomy

     

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