The Chair

powerful gravity in this ugly chair
bought in Santa Barbara decades ago
for a play I produced at the Lobero
I finally escaped from happiness into this funky

void it must be adding several stone 
I wish my penis was interested in masturbation
idly fondled between my thinning thighs
it lengthens in my fond familiar other hand
I slide loose skin up and down the shaft
how long has it been a week at least
on a day like this  what else is there to do
it feels good if I let it and why should I not
no love sex left so I'm on my own

sultry air smoky sky no one here I'm so bored I
almost fall asleep dick shriveling in my hand
what little lust remains has waned

the chair still holds me in its vinyl grip 

gravity never sleeps
 
8/20/23 4:30 p.m. (revised) 

 

 

Do Something

how he feels in the
in-between time when
nothing is happening
causes him some alarm
is it enough to remember
or anticipate something
interesting when he was
more alive less formed
for the last time weak
with age and completion
is anything wrong
do something he thinks
anything better than this
creeping homegrown
inertia and remorse

still there and so is he

A Reminder

 (for Julian)
 
though sounds like snow
not like cow which is thou
and plough and bough
or off as in cough
or puff as in rough and tough
and enough
though is like dough
and so is although

Nothing Changed

a huge fire on the other side of the mountains
smoke looms like a giant cloud
we go on living well
presuming to be happy
wind blowing the other way
nothing changed
not burned up yet

Not Writing

writing about not writing
not being the good man
accomplishing more
laughing loving sharing wise
instead of not writing
not knowing how
or who I am

Going Abroad

how's what going abroad again
old stonemasons built what we
could never imagine doing
 
that going requires less years
ago I tried to be obscure how can
you not grasp what I'm thinking
 
clarity first faces against light
can't be unseen by switching off
you need key strip for action
 
honey what's going on about now
threatened arrival expires date
of death is always a surprise
 
like candles on a cake whose
birthday this time remembered
in time for a virtual exchange

Morning Nap

 "their wings rag out with age"
could be a poem in itself a line
ringing with profound renown
 
I have to look it up again to
spell it right for our little time
where no one knows anymore
 
my wings fold for a morning
nap what else are shoulder
blades made to cut but time
 
a crow in the corner of my
eye refers to memories of
honeyed pleasure climes
 
flies away beyond the 
momentary frame green
with the rain so it be
 
the words give the wit you
give the falling full length
on the sofa of your youth

What We Do

 I summon her to dinner when it is on the table.
I throw out the empty milk containers she leaves on the counter.
I wash, dry, and fold our laundry and put it away.
I put the new roll of toilet paper on the spindle before she runs out.
I take out the trash and recycling.
I close the curtains in the evening and open them in the morning.
I converse.
I pay bills, manage the help, and keep it all going.
We do jigsaw puzzles together.
I buy more puzzles online.
I join her in the bedroom to read for a while before she goes to sleep.
I make the bed in the morning.
I cut our hair.
I put down the seat and the lid of the toilet.
I close the powder room door.
I turn off the light in her office when she isn't there.
I call the plumber.
I get things fixed.
I am ready on time. 
I wipe the kitchen and bathroom counters after use.
I wipe the table.
I make the shopping lists and try not to run out of anything.
I coil the hoses.
I sweep the porch.
I kiss her good night and we share a tender moment.
I say I love you.

Too Old

 they are boring him to death
how has it come to this
how can he possibly stand it
he is leaking away
this time will not be regained
 
can this revenge be just
could he be that bad
forget about being president
he's been famous
take his word for it it sucks
 
sit here in this ugly room

all day doing nothing
he can't even stand up and leave
"haggard and rumpled"
too old for any of this now

Wide Open

 a rainbow in the rear-view mirror
is better than none at all or ever
to remember or look at it again
you did it once at least repeatedly
chased sexy Edenic satisfactions
to prepare you for the final act
when nothing works or matters
as much or in the same old way
it's raining again the sun comes out
there it is arcing across the meadow
before my failing wide open eyes