the muskrat is watching me
from inside the wall
along the river as it near-bursts
with spring’s floor and a dozen ducks
trying to find a mate

the hawk is circling above
as I sit among the nervous pigeons
hungry and wanting more
than a 6-inch sandwich full of nothing
particularly good.

tomorrow, the rain will fall
this sun will forget I was here
the muskrat and the hawk will too
— of course I know there is no tomorrow

a squirrels scurries across my foot
up a tree and out of sight — unaware
I did not say the words
I should have said.

The river continues rising
so I do too and sigh as I leave.

beneath the maple
beneath the sky
i lay me down
i raise my eye
a single seed
downward spins
the gentle traipse
toward me begins

empty pockets in a blue-jean jacket
fake raybans and a sabbath shirt
the street’s still cold but I keep walkin
maybe someday it won’t hurt

i sung alotta songs
but ain’t heard no music yet
i said alotta things
i wish to god i could forget
i gave alotta love
but I got some more for you
i got alotta love
alotta love for you

a buck in the ashtray, nickels and dimes
coffee between my legs getting cold
57 in the 35
going faster, so i won’t get old

i sung alotta songs
but ain’t heard no music yet
i said alotta things
i wish to god i could forget
i gave alotta love
but I got some more for you
i got alotta love
alotta love for you

broke on the border heading north
life half-spent, but who knows what for?
money was always just money, I guess
now it’s even less since you went out the door

i sung alotta songs
but ain’t heard no music yet
i said alotta things
i wish to god i could forget
i gave alotta love
but I got some more for you
i got alotta love
alotta love for you

midnight rolling by with a dozen trucks
morning comin’ soon
yeah, i dont’ give a fuck

i got alotta love
alotta love for you
doesn’t really matter, don’t know what I’ll do

found the way to Boston, slipped right past
ended up in Lowell, nothing good can last
found my way back home, I guess that’s where I’ll crash
ended up alone, I know you didn’t ask

but
i sung alotta songs
still ain’t heard no music yet
i said alotta things
i wish to god i could forget
i gave alotta love
but I got some more for you
i got alotta love
alotta love for you

joy is an egg
served uncooked
still in shell
through cold night air

it only takes five
thrown from an old yellow IROC Z
toward a front door
into a mailbox
at the lexus in the driveway
at the peek too high to reach easily
and one at the dog (for good luck)

the darkness has no hands, but she holds me
tightly to her chest, suggests the moonlight
is nothing but a song sung when the world was young
to every new day since, and tells me
to myself with hope and softened dreams

the man with the green stone ring
moves his hand without conviction
through the vacancy of sunlight
into the burning absence of shadow

if it is a gold ring, the angels know,
if it is silver, I suppose it is still enough

as the reflection of riches worn on his hand
plays like the memory of a butterfly
on the wall where pictures of his family hang
wordless and waiting for him to join them.

what frog should dance
beyond the golden eye
that opens on the glassy skin of now?

what cardinal should,
with bended wing,
break toward the stream’s clear source?

what leaf should fall
from spring’s first word
spoken by a rain driven wind?

i do not ask you, you self-righteous wretch,
this is not your garden
this is not your time

every word is desperation
every note a plea for love
the hat is laying empty on the ground

the passers by are passing
the standing few chew ennui
the hat is laying empty on the ground

another song another riff another moment gone
a buck, a buck, just a buck,
the music ends, the night descends
the hat is on his head

All of the birds in my yard are angry
perhaps at me, perhaps at the cold air
They are angry, violently angry

chirping and screeching and causing
a scene. I watch them perched on the roof
next door looking into my yard

as if all the denizens of hell had come
and taken away all the sacred holy  things
that held them once closer to my heart.

There are no words to share from man’s mouth
to bird’s ear — no wren, no sparrow, no finch,
no chickadee can comprehend the madness of a man.

There are no notes to share from bird’s beak
to man’s ear — no white man, no black man, no woman,
no jew, no gentile can comprehend the sanity of birdsong.

What else can I do, but beg forgiveness
my ignorance has left us here staring at each other —
I am heartbroken and they are angry. The birds are
violently angry perched above watching me.