It’s life and death and love and hate
And staying up til way past late
And sleep and fear and stick and move
And sailing past a Point to prove

It’s matter and it’s state of mind,
It’s yet to come and way behind,
And time and space and grief and grace,
And joining things, well,


Love & Money

Talk it through.

Love & money have their problems,
They don’t always mix too well;
Any couple you can think of
Might just be afraid to tell

How they’ve fought on money questions.
So, when dating, talk it through:
Often it’s the last thing that you
Find out they like
Than you

A Dating Memory – Carnival

So up we went
To a sky that nearly swallowed us –
A bass line could be heard across
The vast expanse of people –
Smells of sugar and salt and butter and
A bit of your perfume
I still can smell —

Two holding hands and feeling high
In several different ways –
We laughed to feel the wind and all
The myriad sensations of the evening –
Clad in our respect for dating, and
Our devotion to the cause of discovering
Just how high and how far and how fast
We could go

At fourteen

And not really on a date, but only sort of

love is only what love is

the rain touches her, and she, me –

love is only what love is

outside the realm of
resolute indifference,
she walks among the
clouds and stars and toast

but tells me not
to worry over details,
for it’s her essence that
she misses most

of rainy days and
stormy nights, says she,
there’s little left of
what was Givenchy

but round up what you’ve got,
and bring your graphs,
for heaven knows that i
could use the laughs

cinnamon or taffy

the boardwalk summer:
low tide and high feeling,

a helpful bit of sun
along the way,

and music, like a
soul-possession engine --

a tastes-like-cinnamon-
or-taffy day

a kiss behind the pier:
a running stallion,

a dancing mare
with yellow tangled hair,

a range of wooden slats
for many horses,

a galloping within
the blare and glare

a multicolored night,
a mini-vegas:

a taste, another taste,
a plunging in,

a space for two,
a tentative exploring --

a map of worlds,
that's written on the skin

a cinnamon or taffy taste,
a blending,

a play-it-off amid
the swirling crowd,

a hopeful kind of glance,
a sudden sorrow,

a private look
that's somehow said out loud

a day a night a gain a loss:
a growing

that no one notices,
and everyone --

a summer on
the boardwalk of tomorrow,

a halting start
that stops

but isn't


And, After All…

After a long day …

And, After All...

My head is sore with all the day has done
Around me and inside my teeming brain;
You walk in and you still my senses stun,
And, after all this time, it’s just insane:
To feel far past what I can quite explain.
I guess its love it’s love I feel – it’s nothing more –
And, after all, what else are we here for?