the sea gave you that power

you don’t care

back up against the wall

band playing a slow dance number

lipstick smeared on every other shoulder

moon,

wow

they love you down here

but

you don’t care

you’re so cool

moon

so cool

Good Things Too

Good Things Too

the litter of stars cuddle gaseous clouds

gamma and spitfire asteroid dust too

split like milkshake kids

running down an alley

like

the moon breaks a new cap on a can

of starlight suds

what?

exactly…

this sky is blinking a flirty lash and beams

it just got back from the grocery store, smiling

new particles to add to the table of contents

in some lunar book

written in wishes

scribbled

those sky bags are full of names of people down here

on knees next to a bed or just sitting in the sunshine

in the park, or feet dangling over the side of the reservoir

in the summer mosquito swat midweeks—baseball game

seasons

you know

the nighttime flinches or moves its muscles

its face, that vast dark, changing in the light

and all that stuff

we can’t see

not so scary now

that the sheets are pulled tight over us

here in the safehouse bed

next to our loved ones

free from the boredom

of youngin questions

and

all that doubt

those stars are twinkle-whats and shining lamps

for now which

by any watch

is longer than a hot minute

away from the pang

where the furnaces heat up the room

too heavy

for a panic

i look up now for just me and anyone else in case

you know

they need it

good things too

good things also need passing on

Artificial Lights

Artificial Lights

in a single solemn light

aside the drift

of the parachute lift

a song goes crashing

through my chapel roof

in the streets

the old lady sings too

her red handkerchief waving

at the tanks—lined with roses

on roped swings

dashing from the cannon mast

bellowing dogs and blond

girls in green military flank

jackets wave to the greasy GIs

and

from the roof

the constellations are all set fire

in the perfect grid and aligned

like it was christmas

in the television set

and

snowing on the model trains

moving through the motionless

little city

names, like jerry, john and moses

stationed somewhere post-stamped

and ready too, their faces were rubbed

newsprint charcoal until today

their lovers’ eyes picking out the

wedding presents and their sisters

following their legs down the side

with imaginary thread, making perfect

imaginary dresses—

hands touching

all frayed knuckles and manners really

soda-pop corner store eventual crossed

fingers—before the car reaches the top

of the hill overlooking the city and

all those artificial lights

a new baby is born

in one quick sudden smile

it never rains here

anymore

Why Not?

Why Not?

just there

in the restless rush of eye-batting and lashings from

lashes smashing

below

those eyes