The Trees Have Been My Friends

The trees have been my friends.

When oblivious businessmen
go to their upscale gyms and afterwards
clink their glasses of red wine
together over steak dinners
I will be able to say
I was nestled in a house of impoverished people
where I dreamed the ancient dreams
of the microcellular arrangements
from a very long time ago
and there beside it,
though not in sterile air conditioned
air,
there, on the stagnant outskirts of an
industrially polluted city,
there the trees have still come to live
and the trees,
the trees still loved me,
the trees still loved them,

and the trees have been my friends.

Ripe Womanly Presence

In the summer
I will want to jump
from the city bridges
into the polluted river below
to celebrate
the carcinogenic world
that men have built
from their grand manly
leadership,

then I’ll climb out,
walk home
to be loved properly by you
and your ripe womanly
presence.

Winter For The Northern Lake Country

It
will always be the one
I remember

when
she walked out
the door

and I
didn’t follow her curves
into
the rain of
the cold night

or
the lights of the street
fill her eyes
turning the sentiments
of men
into loyal tragic sadness

I watched the mirror
I watched the clock
I failed to watch her leave

then
the winter settled in

and
I bought wool socks
for
the
winter of the northern lake
country

Messenger Messenger Satellite

I trust when the autumn
goes away
with
your feelings
my feelings

past the Italian bakery
the pets in windows
the warmth in coats
and scarves on cold Sunday mornings
when your eyes like
crystals
under the million miles of sun

I see the blue
the new civilizations
the new ways of living
the clean clean consoles
and the white ambient light

I trust the past has melted

I sit in the den

The brush fields of the south
now the purgatory of
northern cities
and messenger messenger
satellites
turning high above

Chicago Chrissy

She’s called “Chicago Chrissy”

She looks at my face in daylight

Over her phone

Wondering who I am

who I could be or become for her

You never looked at the lines on
my face
in daylight
over eggs

I was never born that way for you

The silence of sunlight is listening
unluxury
and evolutionary

It vibrates these screens for us
just so you know
impressions are long and ancient