birth in a quiet valley

we've baked and bleached in the burning sand,
been robbed in the markets of Bang-kok
we buried our keel in the shoals off Singapore
and derailed our train in Berlin

hell, we've raised, and tasted its sulphur
as we filled our purse with mistakes
come here, sweet thing, and lie with me
and i'll lie to you til i'm gone

hands we took in treacherous grasp
while fingers crossed our painted kisses
oh! the songs we sang to the great blue northern
that shook its head in mournful disdain

oh grey moon, you're mine, you're mine!
as if saying it made it so
and the river too, it spoke to us
til we silenced it still with our wisdom

we held the bird in twisted grip
pretending we lived within
but to the trees that shook with shame
it flew to pray for rain

so come with me, let's pitch our tent
to quiet the rage that roars
let's carry our wings to the valley floor
begin with streams and butterflies,
the tender grass we'll nest upon
is the birth we missed before

The Edge

(i'll be damned if i didn't write this in the morning, and live it at midnight. No details-the sheriff's still lookin for me)



gettin itchy, so's
i buy a newspaper
and notice my trigger finger twitch

the banker slides his key in the door
and sneaks a cautious glance
over his shoulder

i close one eye
and raise the other eyebrow
while he fumbles his keys stupid

i sneer, then laugh
as he nearly tumbles through the door
just like someone put a blow torch to his ass!

as i saunter down the street
the little boys stop playing catch while
the women scurry, and men scramble
their pocket watches

i light a smoke-and listen, just listen
to the rhythm of my own spurs
that long to burn flank
across blazing desert sand

i wanna shoot a man
force a woman
rob a bank
steal the sheriff's horse
-just to feel the chase

i had a sidekick once
but sidekicks like winners
and that busted bank heist in Omaha
that netted thirty two dollars
and a shot out tail light
was too much for ol Rusty

Rusty wasn't lookin for danger,
just a poke to buy that dusty ranch down in El Paso
and i wish him well

but i ain't scratchin for no ranch,
ain't needin a chrome covered Cadillac
and i dang sure don't need the fame
of billy the kid or db cooper
-crazy bastards

i just need the chase
the rush i feel when i near
the edge of the mesa
and the dust of the posse
tickles my nose

that moment of desperation
which makes a horse's nostrils flare,
wishin they were wings

i'd rob that bastards bank
but bankers are fat and slow
i'd fuck the mayor's wife
but she might like it too much
to complain
but now, that there sheriff,
he's lookin mean
and his horse looks fast
think i'll mosey over
and give it a better look

so many ways

the hawk, resting only in flight
as it disappears beyond the ridge,
and that maverick wolf, with the soulful stare
so God-damned far, and yet,
so far beyond anything he sees
feeling a place he's never been

the weary sea turtle, lumbering through the sand
bidding good luck and good riddance-
you miserable little bastards!
while the darling momma cat bird, this time,
let's the phone just keep on ringing

so many ways...

hey! let's keep in touch,
she shouts in belie
you have my number
don't you?
and don't forget to write
uh huh, uh huh

sometimes
it's a slow rolling tear falling
on fingers released from fingers
or perhaps,
only footsteps in the hall

and sometimes
it's an uneasy laugh,
a hug that no longer fits
or the rubber band
sealing a stack of letters

and so it goes...

then later, all too often,
it resonates
like a wind blown church bell
in a desert ghost town
or the seventh skip of a stone
that only pretended it could fly

i sit upon these timeless shores
where lovers bade farewell
and i listen
to the sun melting
into blue,
a foghorn bearing warning
and the lunatic gulls
chasing waves that can't be caught

and i think, to the night,
sometimes it comes in silence,
and sometimes
silence
is the right goodbye

perfect compromise

would one
be nearly so beautiful
without the other?

still moment

twenty four guns to the starboard!
twenty four more to my port!
a cockwiggle grin to know my chin
and a cutlass full of grip

and the rockets red glare!
the bombs bursting in air!
yada yada yada

the jack hammer breaks the world in two
all rat-a-ta-tat rat-a-ta-tat!
while alarms sound the fire
and sirens chase the thief

a fist for the belly
a stick for the snake
and dynamite just in case

but here and just now,
in this stillest of time
befor hell rises up
its a canoe i glide

a silent paddle that slices
and dips while there, on the shore,
the grey goose nurtures her young
near the turtle
sleeping the fallen log

across the lake, the loon
cuts the silence of this frozen
time, penetrating
the mist rising from this northern lake
not yet awake, but stretching
in yawn

the slightest of breeze
dances the willows skirt
before washing my face
in its echo glow

just before me, a lone bass
leaps for no reason
and the red fox going home
pauses a glance from shore

yes, a screen door will slam
a woman will yell
and a Johnson will fire to life
in search of the bass's hideout

the telephone men will coffee
at Carol's Diner, comparing
bowling scores while the road crew
don the orange blaze and
the school busses lumber their duty

jackhammers, sirens and alarms
will surely follow this path
and violence shall rise with the sun

but now, and just now,
for a moment or so more
i see a canoe
and hear the loon
in this stillest of moments
while i consider the price
we've paid to progress

Corporate Kisses

remember?
the taste of that first sweet kiss
down there, in the green green grass
where the laughing brook dances

you crooned and clark gabled me
with tales of riches and enchanted adventure
while i clenched my tender thighs,
hoping my blush went unnoticed

and to your pictures of the Riviera,
as i swayed and swooned into your gilded arms,
i swear i almost peed!

and though you never said
-and how could i be?
that i was your first,
your kisses told me i was

then there was that gold watch,
the big wedding,
where all your family crimsoned my pale cheek
with their kisses of blood-let deceit

and that first year together,
when never once did i burn your supper
or scorch your shirt with my iron
well, it seemed bliss enough
as i never really believed
the Riviera part anyway

and chagrin, did i barely
as time and again
you bent me over
in hopes of making me
your sporting whore

but then, the plated watch
began to keep time
with the loss of its charm
whilst your family forgot my name,
but not that i was your whore

and darling master, my bewitching lord,
is it then any wonder
that a shirt got scorched
and the soup turned tasteless?

now, in the shadows of the dim fire light,
i watch you in your den
all brandy and robe
with a pipe full of silent smoke

while outside on the porch
gathered with the moths,
your whores line the rail, fill your swings,
and wave to garner your attention

how can they know
that this haggard wretch
peeling your potatoes
was once, as well, a shimmer of beauty
in the eye of your needle?

so while the iron burns through
yet another fine shirt
while the bread falls flat in the oven,
i glance to the window framing
your porch full of fools
and know
my time draws near

and here, in my final knowledge,
i spit in your potatoes
and tell you, with bags nearly packed
you're a lying bastard!

horses can't fly
and you'd fuck your own mother
if she wasn't filled with the clap

(in case you're wondering, this is a love poem to employers)

A Lantern

when the moon rises
and the wheat praises
in holy alleluia.
when it clears the chimney,
passes through the warm smoke
and sails the winter pine,
i'll hang a lantern in my heart;
a beacon of remembrance
of the moment you were,
when yet, you still believed

then as it hangs, just there, on nothing,
i'll walk that wheat and feel the chaff,
climb that roof and twirl the smoke
in warm silken magic

and then limb after limb
i'll climb that pine
to let needles remind me
we were real once,
when nothing else was
when yet you still believed

She, She and he

as the bell jangled, i looked up
as though i didn't
for that's how the game is played

i don't know if she,
or her breeze that followed
noticed me give inquisitive chase
but so it is in the stoic forest

she had cypress trunks for thighs
with branches and leaves sprouting
where they will, while her hair
dizzied the atmosphere like Absalom's
before the tree claimed it's prize

in all, she seemed a Sherman tank
with twin turrets lacking nonsense
and yet,
somehow too,
an alpha rose fresh in bloom

when she spoke, i smelled the cinder,
felt the burn, and my eyes vapor trailed
to the scenting flower, smouldering
in her shadow

this one was tall, willowy
and delicate as a bride's veil
-before the first raunchy toast

her smooth, lean legs moved as a whisper,
her white lace shirt fell softly
to her tiny shorts,
and her quiet steps
gently echoed the march
of the cannons

from a safe distance i listened to the cypress
claim the forest floor while the tender breeze
petaled her wake with adoration

there was nothing in this, worthy of mention
until the cypress spoke loudly
to the forest Lord, saying,
"it's his first time here"

as my eyes lasered, breaking every rule,
the breeze inhaled itself
and the forest hushed and grew still

the lace white shirt knew no guns
nor the tiny shorts a hip
worthy of any launch

and in those few seconds of quiet still
upon the forest floor,
i searched for the boy
but instead
accepted the pretty flower
who accepted my smile
and the breeze blew once more