Touching the Hem of Ginsberg's Coat

Listening to you read to the great gods

digitalis, iPod, DDR

I realized I missed you

dripping coffee in my

honey-pot

reminding me that tracks marks

lead somewhere

and ten years is more than

roads untraveled

lives unlived.

All The People

Culminate the possibilities

that life is more than a succession

of small successions

And I, you, me, he, she

might just be then

flesh and bone

taste and sound

dirt and sky.

Prude

I wasn't okay when you tangoed
in the horizontal direction
with a powderless
moth

So I told you
poured my heart out in a
glass Smuckers jar

let you take a sip to linger
with cold Chinese and
alcoholed decisions

but she told me that two
was not a lucky number

and I wrapped myself in closer

hid the piece I gave you
that I thought you kept

dropped on the floor
of youthful indulgence and
reputation

gathered in hands still shaking
with weathered
disappointment.