Let us bid good riddance to the zeros—
the oughts, the nils, the nuthins or the nadas—
whatever they get called, we are all heroes--
we survived a decade scripted like some dada-
istic prank that started with an (OMG) “election”
of a fool that managed to out stupid Harding
when two wars were launched by his misdirection
(financed with borrowed money) before parting
the scene leaving us two trillion bucks in debt
& verging on an idiocracy
as our citizens increasingly forget
to base their “knowledge” on reality.
I’d liked to be relieved right now but then
lets just see how we fuck up the tens.

The Monkey returns in a few days.

12/27
Sonnets From Other Lives: Angel

The vision will emerge from knife & brush
onto the canvas in waves as when time
folds from contemplation into rush
of colored locomotion through his mind.
Change will be subject & the light
waves’ choice reflections on the eye.
But this painting will put up a fight.
It laughs at him--at everything he tries.
The colors darken—become melancholic—
the line turns jagged—geometric—forced
into language—remotely symbolic—
Angel lets the process take its course
until he steps away to stare at the divide
between the picture & the vision locked inside.

12/26
Sonnets From Other Lives: Brian

--Now that’s the beigest dude I’ve ever seen;
khakis, camel coat & sandy hair--
Do you think he has a personality?
Brian would describe his underwear
if not distracted by somebody else.
Passersby will get identities
painted on them by Brian himself.
He’ll scan the room & lean over to me
with: Fo sho she’s getting some tonight—
them jeans are locked & loaded yessiree.
or That couple there is two drinks from a fight--
the table fairly reeks of jealousy.
I wonder sometimes if he can begin
to imagine what his friends all think of him.

12/25
Song

It's raining on Christmas.
What did you expect?
This isn't New England--
It's the Pacific Northwest.
We don't do White Christmas
or one horse open sleighs
because here in Seattle
it'll most likely rain.
Santa comes down our chimneys
dressed in Gore Tex
& Frosty the Snowman
is a puddle at best.
Still we light up our houses.
Fire up a Yule log
& sing along with Bing Crosby
in the mist & the fog.
It's Christmas in Seattle
but if you need proof
check out the holly
growing out of your roof.
So it rains here on Christmas--
we think that's alright
'cause it rains here on New Years,
& Kwanzaa & Hanukkah & the 4th of July.

12/24
Song

Ebeneezer Scrooge got his
& sometimes I get mine--
a rush to the heart that hits
right around Christmas time.

Could be the Ghost of Christmas past
whispering a line
from a Christmas carol.
It's a wonderful life.

December twenty fourth
reckon where I'll be
playing those sweet old songs
to a Christmas tree.

So come all ye faithful
& deck the halls
with the holly & the ivy
& silver bells.
I wonder as I wander
on a midnight clear
at all we do to bring light to
the darkest time of the year.

12/23
Sonnets From Other Lives: Olivia

Initially invisibility
angered her—but in time her rage
abated as she slowly came to see
that for a woman of a certain age
a weight is lifted. Burdened by desire
for desirability she had
labored long to kindle little fires,
when in fact the effort made her sad.
She gave it up—the rigid painted face—
starvation diets—agonizing heels.
Her clothes fit loose. She let her hair go gray.
She shocks herself at how good all this feels.
Her favorite moments now are spent alone
She’s stumbled on the wisdom of the crone.

12/22
Sonnets From Other Lives: Larry

Larry reading in the Tao Te Ching:
The Ancient Masters didn’t educate—
better people learn the way of not-knowing.
--O…K… Larry thinks—that all sounds great,
but ignorance these days is hardly bliss—
we got too good at knowing stuff that’s wrong.
In the flood of data many miss
the truth itself. They get the lyrics wrong.
They think their taxes rose (when they went down).
They cheer for war—against the wrong opponent.
We’ve become the Democratic Republic of Clowns—
but since we don’t know what we lost, we can’t bemoan it.
He lays in bed and ponders what to do
in lieu of sleeping. Thanks a bunch Lao Tzu.

12/21
Sonnets From Other Lives: Naomi

She has an eye for serendipity
& views the world through kismet colored glass.
What other eyes ignore our Naomi
catches & connects & fixes fast
into a web of interwoven circumstance.
She’ll take each moment as its own surprise—
a grace note in an improvised square dance
that she can see unfold before her eyes.
So when her cells launched their ambuscade
she felt their spreading networks intersect
through her opioid & reefer haze.
She sees the drama with a new respect.
These things never unfold as she expects.
She waits—observant—for what happens next.

12/20
Sonnets From Other Lives: Second Person

You take things for granted when you can—
like the cracks in your old coffee cup—
they still hold water ( or for time’s sake—sand)
& so bear inattention. Looking up
from darkness out the window at
the shadow play of streetlight & tree bones—
you surprise yourself with your knowledge that
everybody else is as alone
as you are & we all are walk the same plank—
our heads & feet share the same sea & stars—
& the smoky whiskey you just drank
is now another part of who you are.
So set the mug down & own that it’s true
that in the end it is all about you.

12/19
Sonnets From Other Lives: Coogan

Coogan ducks under the yellow tape
& steps into the crowded living room.
That familiar fight or flight urge to escape
he forces from his mind—there’s work to do.
A white female is sprawled out on the bed.
Coogan estimates five bullet holes.
White male on the chair, much of his head
is all over the wall. A young patrol
officer lifts a pistol with his pen.
--.357-- all the chambers fired.
Coogan’s thinking—Here we go again—
another fucking murder suicide.
He wishes these things were done in reverse—
where the killer does the suicide part first.

12/18
Sonnets From Other Lives: Padgett

Do you confuse your left from right or wrong?
Are there too many punctuation marks?
Could misremembered lyrics to a song
be like walking backwards in the dark?
What three things would you give up for love?
Have you ever spied on anyone?
Does your glove compartment contain any gloves?
How can I get paid for having fun?
Will anything you’ve done live after you?
Don’t you think that callipygian
is a word that’s too much underused?
How many times have you been ‘round the sun?
Really—is this any way to live?
Do you find my mood too interrogative?

11/17
Sonnets From Other Lives: Smitty

They say a rising tide’ll lift all boats
but this sinking dingy that’s my life these days
for all my bailing barely stays afloat
& now they say they’ll take my house away
‘cause I can’t make payments on a stinkin ARM
I got talked into in 2006.
I thought—Why not? What could be the harm?
But those bankers & lawyers got their tricks
worked out eight moves ahead of you & me.
& O I took the hook & swallowed hard.
Now it’s two more weeks or maybe three
before they put a sign up in my yard.
Before we all sink we should set a course
for CitiBank with torches & pitchforks.

12/16
Sonnets From Other Lives: Rex

Whatever that shit was it wasn’t X—
most likely crappy acid mixed with speed.
Sprawled out in the chill room—tweaking—Rex
could go for some peace, love, & harmony
to replace the ogre armies on the wall.
He struggles to concoct an avatar
to wade into the horde & slay them all
but all those visits to the open bar
have left him hella short of in control.
Plan B—he’ll focus solely on the drone—
C# major bass chord vibrating his soul—
until his girlfriend takes his sorry carcass home.
He’ll rehearse his lines in case somebody asks
--How was the party? --Dude that shit kicked ASS!

12/15
Sonnets From Other Lives: Holly

Holly loves these skeletons of trees—
exposed after the Pineapple Express
gleaned them of their last reluctant leaves
& left the copse behind her house undressed.
She pulls her wellies on & calls the dog
& swathed in wool & oilcloth steps outside.
The pathway’s muckish, but she’s game to slog
across a barren field where someone tried
to make a go of growing Christmas trees
& after harvest never did replant.
The rains force us to just let the land be
free of all the things we’d do but can’t.
Holly scouts out newly exposed nests.
The dog is busy. The world around him rests.

12/14
Sonnets From Other Lives: Omega

here he is the last human left standing
in the ruins of that debacle that once was
a failed experiment in understanding
the particle theories of dust to dust—
we thought that we were in control—
he muses from his home under the rubble—
we were so clever --we thought as we stole
the future from ourselves—we were untroubled
by the cloud of devastation in our wake—
living off the land’s obesity—
ever ready to reach out & take
everything--it came to us too easily

he wonders at his wonder & surprise
to learn a thing is empty once sucked dry

12/13
Sonnets From Other Lives: Jefferson

Supermarket closed a month ago--
two years to the day after the mill
shut down. Now this old town’s left with no
real reason to be on a road map. Still
folks hang on to what they used to, but
you don’t see young folks stickin round no more.
They’re all gone & sure if I wised up
myself I’d prob’ly walk right out that door.
But roots go deep & then they hold you down
& there you are & whatcha gonna do?
Everything I am is in this town—
Ain’t no place else I’m good for goin to.
Won’t be long before all us is dust.
& this is good as any place to rust.

12/12
Sonnets From Other Lives: Spider

Went down to the crossroad at midnight—
hoped to cut a deal with Old Scratch—
so I’m standing at the corner with my flashlight
when someone ‘cross the street lights up a match.
She wasn’t really what I was expecting.
I expected more obvious danger.
But I’m not a guy who goes around rejecting
sudden meetings with imperfect strangers.
The moon had much to say about the matter
as did the flashing sign that said “Don’t Walk”
but all my best intentions tend to scatter
when I forget to give myself that little talk
about thinking first before moving my feet.
& so I made my way across the street.

12/11
Sonnets From Other Lives: Jake & Pablo

--Fuckin banks crash the economy
just like they did back in 29
& the only difference that I can see
is back then Democrats still had a spine.
--Welcome to the Roman Fucking empire.
Beer always brings out your inner pundit.
but I’m good drinking & watching you breath fire.
--A person has to be to be a total dumbshit
if he can’t see that there’s no way this can last.
These corporate fucks will suck the country dry.
--Already did in Michigan. I drove past
ghost town after ghost town—give them time.
So I’m buyin—want another one?
--The war is over Jake. The bad guys won.

12/10
Sonnets From Other Lives: Amber

The insect trapped in amber at her throat
could be taken as a metaphor.
Somewhere in her journal she once wrote
about a dream in which she walked out of a door
into a world of water ankle deep
extending outward--covering her yard.
Luminescent fish swam at her feet
as rays of light extended from her heart
chakra like a bright electric torch.
She labors to turn vision into art
but the paintings leave the inner image scorched
& tattered—fossilized & trapped
forever like a lump of hardened sap.

12/9
Sonnets From Other Lives:???

People--you see--always want a name
so I give them one—I have so many—
I can spare one more—to me they’re all the same--
though now essentially I haven’t any
appellation I can call my own—
too much of a good thing as they say—
my tombstone will have to say unknown.
To my thinking they all should be that way.
I’m from that town where everyone’s a liar--
even he who just passed on that fact.
But someone set our birth records on fire--
left not one liar’s identity intact .
We’re who we say we are & nothing else.
Should our paths cross I’ll introduce my self.

12/8
Sonnets From Other Lives: Hugh

In my day we didn’t have no color—
the whole damn world was all in black & white.
We didn’t care none—didn’t know another
way of bein. I tell you when I
first saw red well I was feeling blue
about the hues that we’d missed all that time
& how you can’t trust anything as true
if you can’t believe your very eyes.
Felt like I’d been someway somehow cheated--
that everything I knew was all a lie—
& everyone & me had been mistreated—
tho I know I coulda seen it if I tried
but I didn’t try because I didn’t know.
I guess I was just waitin t’be told.

12/7
Sonnets From Other Lives: Aristotle

Found this stump farm off the Skoocumchuck
Real Estate guy thought that I was nuts.
But it was cheap & so was this old truck
& that’s how I got out of my old rut
& finally left the rat race to the rats.
I’ve found my own decrepit hidey hole—
this sagging cabin. Now I reckon that’s
where I aim to drown my sorry soul
& distilled spirit. Everybody hurts
uniquely. I think creativity
is finding your way to your just desserts
& living with certain uncertainties—
like how an author finds a story’s end
or when the darkness finally closes in.

12/6
Sonnets From Other Lives: Deets

All I want’s a quiet place t’sleep.
It aint like I’m tryin t’be a pain
I’m not crazy & I ain’t no kind of creep
I’m just tryin t’get out of the rain
& this doorway’s dry & no one’s comin by
‘til eight AM when Doris opens up
& she just says good morning & then I
pack my bindle & go get a cup
of coffee at McDonalds—sit & wait
until the library opens its doors
& I can lose myself among the great
writers--think I’m not a bum no more.
So if you’d just get that light out of my eyes
officer, I’d like to go to sleep alright? Good night.

12/5
Sonnets From Other Lives: Lauren

There it is again—that hollow space—
the void where something she loved used to be.
Lauren liked to think there was no place
in her life for comfortable complacency—
that everything should matter—she would have
everything be fraught with great import—
thinking on it now—she has to laugh—
one more aspiration to abort.
Who knew emptiness could grow so heavy?
That nihility could offer so much weight?
There are assets & there are taxes levied—
losses that can never be replaced.
Looking on the wall—a shadow’s cast—
a lack of light she might well not outlast.

12/4
Sonnets From Other Lives: Alyss

Living underwater in this way
Alyss has come to an understanding
with the dark blue silence of her days
& the vertigo of falling without landing.
Everybody moves about in schools—
buses leaving ripples in their wake—
a curvature of light that always fools
her into thinking nearer things are far away.
She knows wiser amphibians than she
crawled out of the liquid long ago
& into airy light—eventually
learning keener ways to move & grow
but Alyss now has gotten used to this--
adjusted to her life in the abyss

12/3
Sonnets From Other Lives: Hector

He’s starting to grok relativity.
This meeting won’t approach the speed of light—
it’s slowed time so that Hector’s thinking he
might actually begin to mummify.
While someone tries to shift a paradigm,
Hector’s ass is starting to go numb.
The clock implies that for the moment time
has frozen like his petrifying bum.
Hector—desperate for some diversion
begins to systematically undress
selected female coworkers. Perversion
he hopes will speed up time—that is unless
his input’s asked for & all that he has
is an analysis of Marci Norman’s ass.

12/2
Sonnets From Other Lives: Alex

A steaming cup of Lapsang Souchon tea—
with its smoky whiff of campfire & old leather
brings up fond familiar memories
of oiled boots & cold inclement weather
& afternoons of poetry & her—
the first one—after classes—making tea
& making love—awakened & unsure—
but enraptured by uncertainty—
exploring intersects of soul & body
as the rain painted the windows of her room
& the trees outside impressionistically.
A cup of tea can resurrect those afternoons—
so powerful this evocative drug—
pine smoked leaves & water in a mug.

12/1
Sonnets From Other Lives: Easy

The black sky of the desert fills with starts.
The night is moonless—void of competition
save the headlights from the passing cars
out there on the highway. Easy’s wishing
he was in one now & heading west.
Ain’t much point in hitching in the dark
so he lays his bindle down. He’ll get some rest
tonight then in the morning he’ll embark
again on his journey to nowhere—
always moving—always on the way
to something somewhere—it’s not like he cares—
he likes to think that it’s the hand of fate--
but Easy refuses his reflection--
lest it reveal some unknown connection.

11/30
Sonnets From Other Lives: Melinda

Melinda can’t leave well enough alone.
She’s going to have to somehow be involved.
These are—she reasons—matters of the home
& hearth & so the problem must be solved.
Her son—Marvin—is less that sure she’s right.
It is—in fact--his marriage we’re discussing—
his infidelity & not his wife’s—
but Mom is Mom & currently she’s fussing
over scripture—looking for the perfect verse
to inspire a reconciliation
through spiritually uplifting guilt & terse
syntax. Is it her imagination
or is Marvin too content on settling
on a strategy based on his Mommy’s meddling?

11/29
Sonnets From Other Lives: X

He reaches in his pocket for his keys.
Nothing. No key. No coins. No wallet.
No pocket. No pants. No identity.
This malady—whatever should we call it?
Aren’t there multisyllabic Latin names
for sudden total losses of existence?
Undiagnosed--he know cannot claim
compensation from his health insurance,
for it may be his condition preexisted—
& now he’s fallen into a relapse
where the fibers of his being came untwisted
& like a star, he’s suddenly collapsed
into the nether regions of his soul:
Event horizon. Singularity. Black hole

11/28
Sonnets From Other Lives: Miriam

Harlequin ducks ride the swirling rip
tide as it boils around the point.
Connoisseurs of chaos—she would quip—
always at the ready to anoint
events with some reflected meaning—
hard it is to just let events be—
there she is out on the headland gleaning
phrases to put into poetry.
An eagle takes the wind into the west—
she’s wanting an abstruser metaphor—
freedom is too easy & at best
it’s just another hungry carnivore.
The sky is grey & flat. The wind is terse.
The air is cold & clear & free of verse.

11/27
Sonnets From Other Lives: Anon.

The first death really wasn't hard at all--
at seven weeks he went to sleep & stayed.
But now he anticipates the fall
& catches himself measuring his days.
He once bled out at thirty thousand feet.
At other times he has succumbed to cancer,
meningitis, stroke, & HIV.
There are questions for which he would like an answer.
i.e.. Why the weird surfeit of memory?
How many lives can fit into one head?
Wherefore this circle of absurdity?
When is his next rendezvous with death?
He passes churchyards with a rueful smile--
denied the easy solace of denial.

11/26
Sonnets From Other Lives: Orrin

He had long suspected he could fly,
but never had his hypothesis tested--
but now he lifts his arms--begins to rise
& once the pull of gravity's arrested
he realizes it was just a lack of will
that kept him bound & grounded for so long.
Now the limits that inertial had instilled
in him were ineluctably forgone.
He set his course towards a setting sun
& glided silent & as swift as sound.
So now the great adventure has begun.
We can wonder at what wonders he has found
in that awkward existential silence later
after we'd shut off his ventilator.

11/25
Sonnets From Other Lives: Bret & Britt

--The recipe calls for six ounces of wine,
but it isn’t for the sauce, it’s for the cook,
so I’m sharing—you want some of mine?
--Thank you yes. That’s really in the book?
--I wrote the book, so it says what I want.
When I’m in my zone, it’s jazz. Look at me as…
.. . A culinary idiot savant?
How ‘bout if you put capers into that?
--Too summer—see I cook with synesthesia.
I’m aiming for an autumnal sirocco--
an ancient villa outside Castellina..
--So if you spice it wrong we wind up in Morocco?
--Perfection! Preparations are complete.
Grab a fork. Dig in. Bon Appetit.

11/24
Sonnets From Other Lives: Alden

Blow winds blow—a smile cracks his cheeks.
He’s leery of a too obvious pun.
The girls should be calling him this week—
they’ve had time to sharpen up their tongues.
He’s ready for his fortnightly berating—
looking forward--if you have to know.
The storm will blow in soon—the air’s creating
a modern dance of tree & leaf & snow
flurries that portend incoming drama—
fool he is-- he hopes he may persuade
his children to forgive him & their mama
for shattering their family in this way.
O this is freedom—every moment bleeds .
One must then grant nature nature’s needs.

11/23
Sonnets From Other Lives: Old Dogg

I can tell you what is is –he says.
is is here & now & then & soon—
simultaneous coincidence.
He holds his hand up to a swollen moon
& squints & pinches it between his fingers.
Hell—it ain’t no bigger than a dime.
& for a spell his new perception lingers—
he wonders—was it ever thus? In time
someone throws more wood onto the fire.
This adds twenty new stars to the night.
Old Dogg thinks he’s do well to retire,
but then finds another jug of wine.
What is is—he says—see now I know
is is is as it was ever so…

11/22
Sonnets From Other Lives: Henry

Henry misses melancholia—
all the maladies of unbalanced humors.
Now the dark within him’s only a
pharmaceutically corrected rumor.
Perhaps a bit of bleeding would suffice—
a razor blade--a warm soak in the tub—
a cocktail—whiskey, seconal & ice
Eternity. Yes & there’s the rub--
He knows it’s all romantic falderol.
He’s riffing on bare bodkins, all the while
he might as well be posing with a skull.
He’s always had a certain sense of style.
He pours a drink & smiles sardonically.
Anything worth watching on T.V.?

11/21
Sonnets From Other Lives: Nemo

On this malominous morning it was clearer--
another chance to master disappointment—
another confrontation with the mirror--
another horal egoist's appointment
with his dubious identity.
Who was this hoary-eared oblique impostor
who rendezvoused with him relentlessly?
How came this darkness to be fostered?
Clouds were boiling up somewhere outside—
burascoes building up bent on a burst
of impossibly bright agonizing light.
Oy –he thinks—come on then. Do your worst.
Whoever I am I am bound to be
the wind’s plaything—the disembodied leaf.

11/20
Sonnets From Other Lives: Trent

& it came to pass that he would be called Trent.
Mother was so down with Nine Inch Nails
& heroin for that matter—she went
& chased that dragon all the way to Hell.
The first family taught him to love the Lord.
The second barely knew that he was there.
With the third he’d started to get bored
& by the fourth he didn’t even care.
The odds for happy endings would diminish
with every time the caseworkers would call
& every move led closer to a finish-
line that shaped itself into a fall
from a grace so less than amazing--
a life lived as an existential hazing.

11/19
Sonnets From Other Lives: Shanti

She decided this would be her meditation.
It would be all about right livelihood.
Checking groceries not as automation,
but as creation. Well, it sounded good.
To be here now there was for sure a challenge,
but Shanti learned to get in to her zone—
to put her mind into a perfect balance
between boredom and an infinite unknown.
She sang out PLU codes in her mind
as a kind of numerated mantra.
She practiced bagging groceries blind,
a sort of cross between Tetris & Tantra.
Shanti worked to keep her center still,
& somehow have a way to pay the bills.

11/18
Sonnets From Other Lives: Sigg

& so once again the rains have come
to the coast of Oregon. This isn’t news.
He pushes back his chair—the chapter done—
& looks around for something else to do.
The morning’s downpour settles into mist.
He calls the dog—deciding on a walk.
To spark his lazy plot into a twist
he’ll listen to his protagonist talk
as he hikes between the halls of dripping cedar
& spruce to make his way down to the sea.
If the story tells itself he’ll take a breather
from all his anxious over-editing.
The tide is high. The ocean has its say.
He listens closely as it ebbs away

11/17
Sonnets From Other Lives: Aaron & Lia

With the last switchback they made the moraine
& looked down on the glacier far below.
Tahoma loomed before them as if framed
by the winter blue sky. They stomped down the snow
with their skis & sat & settled in to eat:
bread & cheese—a thermos full of soup.
Lia played St. Francis with the jays she
fed by hand—a kind of counting coup
with the mountain’s bolder denizens.
They stood & pointed their long skis downhill--
telemarking through fresh powder &
stopping now and then among the still,
& frozen sculpted trees until the ride
ended at the lodge at Paradise.

11/16
Sonnets From Other Lives: Harry

He wouldn’t have it any other way.
He called it lack of imagination.
An ancient Airstream trailer, bags of clay,
a wheel and time to spend on the creation
of pots & plates & jugs & mugs & vases
in a shed that he’d thrown up months ago.
Retirement & widowerhood the causes.
The effect—a opportunity to go
out into a desert by himself
to put fistfuls of wet earth on a wheel
& mold it into something he can sell
that someone else can use—something real.
After thirty years in business counting beans,
he hopes for half a clue what it all means.

11/9
Sonnets From Other Lives: Stakeout


By the third day of the stakeout, Lee was done.
--Really—he said—what’s the fuckin point?
You really think that Katt’s so dumb
that he’d look up his ex wife? Jeez, her joint
is bound to be staked out. I mean we’re here.
Axel couldn’t argue. Lee was right.
But the inspector’s orders were perfectly clear:
We’ll have eyes on the wife’s place day & night.
An old lady wheeled by with a grocery cart.
Some skaters in the street were hanging out.
A ragged, homeless guy came from the park--
limping down the sidewalk.
Axel thought
that the idea Katt was here was as unlikely
as that homeless dude’s shiny brand new Nikes.

11/8
Sonnets From Other Lives: Hope


Everybody says—What were you thinking?
As if thinking was in any way involved.
My excuse of course was we were drinking,
but there was a much more primal force involved:
The organism’s urge to replicate.

I’d told myself I’m not the kind of girl
who carries around condoms on a date,
& for that I’ve got the wages of my sin
growing in my sorry uterus.
What made me think that I would not give in
to the atavistic voice of human lust?
For all my meditations on the soul,
I never gave a thought to birth control.

11/7
Sonnets From Other Lives: Simon

O crap—he thinks—I’ve got a fucking cold.
My head is full of Halliburton concrete--
the rotten kind—all crumbly & old--
that plugs you up before it starts to leak.
How many rhinoviruses are there?
I’d’ve thought by now I’d had them all.
For seven days he’s doomed, so he takes care
to spread the joy beyond his own four walls.
No way around it—gotta go to work.
They’ve made it clear—his job is on the line.
The workplace doesn’t offer many perks,
save spreading misery on company time.
So there goes Simon. Smiling. Shaking hands.
Right on—he says-- gonna stick it to the man.

11/6
Wanda Ananda

O rest your weary head upon the cow,
for it’s five o’clock in the a.m.
& you are in a freezing barn right now
Because your turn to milk has come again.
The first squirts pings the pail euphoniously
but then the rhythm lulls you like a drug,
You can’t allow yourself to fall asleep
lest she’ll plop her shitty foot into the jug
& there you are with nothing left to show
for the courageous climb out of your bed.
Now there’s only one gallon to go
& so you go & rest your weary head
on her flank and listen to the mutter
of grass & oats transforming into butter.

11/5

How we met

On the 45^th Street on-ramp the Hitchhiker

stood holding  up a sign that read “B-ham”

The girls had just pulled over to switch drivers

& there he was.  They let him climb in, & 

since they shared a common destination,

you could make a case the whole event was fated.

The  three of them were into meditation,

&  as the miles rolled by he related

that he was coming from a small farm in the Palouse,

which was really just a small yogic commune.

Then it turned out they all were going to

be going to college up at Western soon.

Funny thing about the vagabond they ferried:

In four years he & one of them were married.

 

11/4

Sonnets From Other Lives:  Aster

 

There--a short-eared owl perched on a snag

that stood out like a watchtower on the heath.

Aster pulled her binos from her bag,

& focused on him.  Beautiful. When she

verified the species in the worn

Roger Tory Peterson field guide

her father gave her.  Now that he is gone,

she keeps his book & field glasses alive

with these walks.  The owl launches from his perch

& rides upon the weighted atmosphere,

skimming on the landscape in its search.

The first time that her father brought her here,

he was still a giant & she held his hand

and listened, though she didn’t understand.

11/3

 Sonnets From Other Lives:  Margarita 

A thousand crows are swirling overhead.

Margarita stares upward—enthralled.

She’s stepped outside to walk off the regret

for the angry words exchanged when Stella called.

The wind is angry too, as are the birds

squawking in a storm of clouds & leaves.

Her daughter’s bitterness leaves an absurd

emptiness in her--for that she grieves.

The pictures she’s put up over the years

show a princess smiling at her mother’s lens.

Now it’s all regret, anger, and tears.

She knows she’ll never know that child again.

She’ll let things cool a week & then she’ll try

to call again. 

The crows can have their sky.

11/2

Sonnets From Other Lives:  Nigel

What if everything’s a metaphor?

Nigel asked himself the other day.

I mean, I know I’m walking through this door,

but are there more symbolic layers yet in play?

Had he not slept through his whole freshman year

he might have heard of Plato & his cave,

but the funnest part of ignorance is your

elation at discoveries you make.

What does this sidewalk mean? Wherefore this bus?

Perhaps they’re allegorical alienation?

Is my life a metaphor?  Are all of us

just archetypes of god’s imagination?

Note:  Let MacArthur grant officials know that I

am a genius at philosophy when high.

11/1

Sonnets From Other Lives:  Ilya                                                        

This autumn weather, he is thinking, wants Ravel,

a double macchiato & a walk

around the lake, but what the hell,

his I-pod opts for Yo Yo & the Bach.

Striding through the gate & down the lane,

the Suite for cello number one in G

sparkles in his caffeinated brain

like the morning light on golden autumn leaves.

A cloud of starlings rises from a field,

reforms & darts—a school of airborne fish.

His mind seeks out the real in the unreal--

the strings of universes that untwist

in a revelation that he gets

as an equation in the second minuet

10/31

Sonnets From Other Lives: Linda                                                                                                                        

What ever happens happens , she would say;

then wind herself up tighter than a tick.

Her inner child was totally Type A,

but then she had this nifty little trick

where she could fake a perfect Buddhist disconnect

from the myriad of stresses in her life,

as if some secret switchboard could select

which face would be appropriate & right.

Her honeyed voice would purr over the phone

as she soothed the staff with reassurances,

while below the desk her restless leg syndrome,

belied her cool reserve with its own dances.

She could always keep her cool as others panicked.

Was it moral courage or just Xanax?

10/30

Sonnets From Other Lives:  Jackson                                                                           

Jackson rides the 6 Train—heads downtown—

tries to focus on The Razor’s Edge—

but he keeps imagining he’s looking down

from Chrysler Building’s highest ledge

wondering how far a person falls

before he finally figures how to fly.

He stares beyond the passing tunnel walls

and looks his own reflection in the eye.

The train pulls in & stops at Astor Place,

as it’s uptown counterpart pulls along side.

Looking into it, he sees her face

& falls into a wormhole freezing time.

Another universe lies in that look,

& both of them are reading the same book.

10/29
Sonnets From Other Lives: Kate

Kate parks her truck outside St. John
Hardware.  She needs new belts for the swather.
The guys inside have not known her that long--
she'd recently moved in with Swenson's daughter
when he took sick, & now they work his farm.
They met in Iraq in the motor pool,
but then some asshole set off an alarm
& they were discharged on  that Don't Ask Don't Tell rule.
There were the usual crude rug-muncher jokes at first,
(those guys make up rude crap 'bout everyone)
but they'll say, Those girls made them old combines work
a whole lot better'n old Swenson ever done.

Kate buys her belts--they talk weather. crops & price.
The consensus at St. John is she's alright.

10/28
Sonnets From Other Lives: Shelly

 Shelly has had one horrific day.
She decides she owes herself a bath.
Once home, she pours a glass of chardonnay,
turns the water on & does the math:
Take the morning traffic jam that made her late
to work & add the crash of her computer,
plus the diner with the forty minute wait,
times that meeting with her boss, (she'd like to shoot her).

She lights aromatherapeutic candles,
fills the tub & takes a sip of wine.
It's Austin time--the Bennet family scandals
will supplant the petty bullshit on her mind.
A perfect moment? Alas, here's the rub:
She dropped her fucking Kindle in the tub.

10/17
Sonnets From Other Lives:  Victor

Victor stands alone atop the roof,
& scans the cul-de-sac, alert for danger.
He is invincible!  He's bullet proof!
Our hero spots a running hooded stranger.
It's only Joey's mom out for a jog.
She'll be safe.  Victor's got her back.
He'll watch her just in case the Barker's dog
transforms into a werewolf & attacks.
Oh but if he showed those bullies all his powers
they'd run away whenever he came near.
That stupid Jimmy Callahan would cower
in his presence & he'd  pee himself with fear!
He should just go & pulverize those creeps!
No time like now.  He spreads his cape & leaps.

10/26
Sonnets From Other Lives: A Circle of Friends

The form a plan.  When Armageddon comes,
Dustin's family has a ranch somewhere--
they'll buy up food & drugs & booze & guns,
& pack it up & move the party there.
It'll be like the Decameron!
(Matt & Luke read it in Med. Lit. class)
Soon enough they've all joined in the fun:
The Master Plan to save their sweet karass.
Su & Larry both can play guitar,
Angela's a carpentry apprentice.
Lonnie cooks & Melody tends bar.
Bummer no one's going to be a dentist.
Mike put Ozzy on: Countdown's Begun,
& thinks this whole end of the world thing sounds like fun.

10/25
Sonnets From Other Lives: Roger & Sherri

Commercial break.  Sher gets up to pee.
Roger wishes she would close the door.
Roger really needs the mystery
& there isn't all that much left anymore.
He'll have to dump her soon.  She knows too much.
Who he is.  Who he pretends to be.
He'll find a new girl--one who isn't such
an adept of his secret frailties.
Roger always loves the exposition
but bails just as the action starts to rise
to a climax--that awkward recognition
that someone else might matter in his life.

She seems to love him & for that he's sorry,
but he just can't wait to start another story.

10/24
Sonnets From Other Lives:  The CoolHunter

The CoolHunter stalks the city streets--
fashion forward--all senses alert.
Suddenly she simply has to meet
that cute boy in the black & white stripe shirt.
(It's sort of hipster PoMo Russian sailor/
gondolier--but not overtly gay)
Deftly she persuades him to regale her
with his brand preferences.  A video is made.
Her new I-Phone speeds up the process so,
the image reaches New York in real time.
By morning all the new patterns will go
by e-mail to Chinese assembly lines,
from whence the boy's unique, inventive look
will land in all the malls--safely precooked.

10/23
Sonnets From Other Lives:  Benny

The old man sits contorted in his chair
like a letter from a long lost alphabet.
Behind his rheumy-eyed unfocused stare
his mind is screaming for a cigarette.
But everything that moves or speaks was disconnected
three years ago.  (He took a bullet to the head)
Before that he was a made man & respected
for his skills in making other people dead.
Like that orderly who left him on the shitter?
He would have worked his kneecaps with a power drill.
These days all he does is think his bitter
thoughts about the different ways he'd kill
these bastards.
                       There he sits dreaming his dreams.
It's dinner soon.   He's hoping for ice cream.

10/22
Sonnets From Other Lives:  Jen

Jen sits in a booth in Beth's Cafe
at 3AM--her breakfast after work--
looks at the drawings on the wall across the way--
no mistake about it--that one's her.
Her weathered Greenpeace t-shirt--her tattoo--
she's standing at he bar pulling a beer.
The drawing isn't signed.  She wonders who
has done this portrait, because it is clear
the artist had been watching her at work
at the Comet--probably last Thursday night.
(That's the last time that she wore that shirt)
Jen can't be certain.  Did the artist get her right?
She concedes that, yes, the likeness isn't bad,
but wonders--does she really look that sad?

10/21
Sonnets From Other Lives:  Helen

The Lord provides the perfect parking spot.
Helen makes a little prayer of thanks.
It's pouring out but thanks to God she'll not
muss her hairdo walking to the bank.
The downpour is an obvious punishment
for all the sin she sees committed 'round these parts.
Almighty God will soon make them lament
the transgressions of their wicked pagan hearts.
She eyes the teller with righteous suspicion--
a sodomite--(she can always tell).
She shudders--a discreet, delicious frisson--
imagining him fricasseed in Hell.
O ye sorry sinners--go on have your fun.
You'll get yours after the Rapture comes.

10/20
Sonnets From Other Lives: Bat Boy & The Alien

I saw Bat Boy & The Alien
in an airport bar in Minneapolis.
Bat Boy had commenced to tie one on,
& The Alien was looking real depressed.
I bought a round for both.  Hey wouldn't you?
What a comedown--both are unemployed,
what with the folding of The Weekly World News.
Bat Boy started in on how he'd toyed
with acting but he couldn't get the parts--
They just want zombies & vampires these days.
We ordered one more, then The Alien starts
to tell Bill Clinton stories.  Anyway,
my flight got called & so I had to run.
This economy is hard on everyone.

10/19
Sonnets From Other Lives: Adam & Kane

The Lover's body's sprawled out on the sidewalk
where the killer's bullet emptied it of life.
The encounter started with a little talk
between the Husband and the lover of his wife.
It wasn't jealousy in this case--it was money.
She'd taken it & given it away.
The Lover read her well & thougth if funny
that he's scammed the Husband--finally made him pay
for setting him up back in '84
when the Husband hadn't given it a thought
as he sold him out.  That's what fall guys are for.
But the story didn't start there.  If you've got
enough time to stay with it then you can
trail this thread back to the Fall of Man.

10/18
Sonnets From Other Lives: James

By agreement their relationship is open.
Both of them are given a free pass.
But James is having such a hard time coping
with those bitches always sniffing 'round Tim's ass.
Why are they all so fucking predatory?
These days he feels all paranoid and shitty.
Three drinks & he'll start in at being sorry
he fell so hard for a boy so goddamn pretty.
These days he looks like such a fucking hag.
He really needs to get back to the gym,
 'cause honey, it's hard work being a fag--
hard to keep and hold a hot boyfriend like Tim.
What is the magic word that he can say
that will posses him without driving him away?

10/17
Sonnets From Other Lives:  Art & Venus

He spots her by the registration desk
& greets her with a glass of charddonay.
Hello.  My name is Arthur West.
Hello. My name is Venus Halladay.
The Pharmaceuticals Convention then convenes.
Meanwhile Art & Venus subtly
slip off together up to Arthur's suite.

They know the tradecraft of adultery:
That room service is more discrete than bars.
When phoning spouses, always claim you're bored.
They make up titles for their private seminars
like Active Neurons and The Petit Mort.

The week will end without drama or tears,
as they've been meeting like this for eleven years.

10/17
Sonnets From Other Lives: Penny

The first postcard she got had come from Greece--
the Parthenon awash in colored lights.
A month later, another one from Nice--
the Promenade des Angles shot at night.
No signature.  No message.  Just her name
& address in an unfamiliar hand.
Was someone somewhere playing some strange game?
--Who IS this? Why me? I don't understand...
In the middle of each month another comes
from Bangkok, Moscow, Rio, Kathmandu... 
& every time she gets a card she plumbs
her memory, but doesn't have a clue.
Anxiety vies with eagerness each ides,
as she waits until another one arrives.

10/15
Sonnets From Other Lives: Charles

On the Campo de Frari Charles sits
& sips his customary cappuccino.
At exactly nine o'clock he stands & quits
his place, waves at the waiter--Caio, Gino--
& walks arthritically towards the church.
In the three years since his Sophie passed away
he'd traveled on a kind of quest, in search
of something that, when asked, he couldn't name.
But now each morning Charles takes his place
in the Sanctuary before Titan's Assumption
& sits, eyes fixed on the Madonna's face
for one hour.  Wherefore this presumption?

The resemblance is uncanny.  She could be
a young Sophia in a different ecstasy.

10/14
Sonnets From Other Lives: Sol

The sixth toss of the coins comes up a six--
Great Heaviness--number 28.
The wood beneath the lake, (a flood) & this:
The Judgment:  It seems the weight is great.
No shit Sherlock.  The bank called again.
His poor 401K has turned to crap
& now with Sue laid off it's up to him
to come up with another well to tap.
The load is heavy; the support is weak.
Spooky, man.  What is it with this thing?
Every since the '60's he's been freaked
by the synchronicities of the I Ching.
Sol sought ancient wisdom--up this came:
Swamped by circumstances.  But no blame.

10/13
Sonnets From Other Lives : TJ

What if your pursuit of happiness
encroaches on your life & liberty?
In his cell TJ will ponder this
& the mystery of just how he could be
so stupid as to rip off his supplier
& then suck all of that product up his nose.
This frying pan is bad--but shit--the fire?
They'll cap his ass now wherever he goes.
Things are cool for now here in the joint.
No one knows him.  He's nobody's bitch.
No one so far has stood up to point
him out, Yo--that asshole's a snitch!

Three weeks--six days, and then they let him go.
Jesus--he could really use some blow.

10/12
Sonnets From Other Lives: Abby

The morning is a gift. Abby accepts.
She points the mare up canyon towards the ridge.
The horse is skittish but Abby is adept
at calming her.  They pause beside  a bridge.
Two dippers are dancing in the stream.
A western tanager lights in a pine.
This is just how she would orchestrate her dreams
were she conductor of her thoughts at night.
The mare steps carefully across the creek
to where the trail begins a steady climb.
Jenny's coming home in two more weeks
from Afghanistan.  It crosses Abby's mind
that this perfect morning's perfect for
taking one worried mother's thoughts from war.

10/11
Sonnets From Other Lives: Emily

This was a really bad idea.
She tunes down the D string, buying time.
But no--she had to listen to Maria
who kept bugging her to play at open mike.
She mumbles a self deprecating intro,
takes one more deep breath &  hits her chord,
going deep into the song with her eyes closed.
(in fear she'll see the audience look bored)
O you  are my light.  You are my candle,
The flame that makes me burn--that makes me glow.
One song is all that she can handle,
She flees the stage.  How can she ever know
which boy is thinking,  How cool would that be
if that girl would write a song like that for me?

10/10/10
Sonnets From Other Lives: Sandra

Now Sandra knows the weight of clouds.
Each weighs about one hundred elephants.
This factiod from her radio, announced
as she drives westward on that great expanse
of open sky that is eastern Montana.
Puffy pachyderms form up ahead.
Finally she's escaped from Indiana.
Still there's that last thing her mother said
before she could make her getaway
rattling her mind like a loose bearing.
Mom could always find something to say
that left a scar.  She tries to keep from caring,
but no, she still feels guilty and bereft.
Who knew a little cloud could have such heft?

10/9
Sonnets From Other Lives:  George

Lennon would be 70.  Imagine.
George is sitting watching the wheel go 'round.
--With the songs, in some small way, we'll always have him,
he thinks as he gets up & cranks the sound
up on Rock 'n' Roll, takes his guitar,
& plays some lines along with Stand By Me,
--Forty years it's been & you still are
rockin my soul .
                           George thinks that he
might head uptown--check out Strawberry Fields.
No doubt there there's something going on,
but on second thought, he really feels
like hanging out & jamming here with John.
Small irony, but really, all along
George's favorite Beatle has been John.

10/8
Sonnets From Other Lives:  Clarice

One glance & Clarice know she owns the room.
She can sense the envious & anxious eyes.
She throws a smile to stun & blind the groom.
O wicked me, I'm upstaging the bride.
Soon the men will flock and run their games.
The muscle stud.  The software millionaire.
Exotic getaways by private plane..
She will not bother to pretend to care.
With her expensive new decolletage,
she'll be a magnet for all their advances.
The music starts & she prepares to dodge
the incoming barrage of ardent dancers.
Alas the whole sad drama will begin.  It
is going to be starting any minute...

10/7
Sonnets From Other Lives: Daniel

Just two seconds can change everything.
That's the part that eats at him the most.
He'd cranked a song he liked--started to sing...
An impact & he's living with a ghost.
She will be with him forever, he's convinced.
Each night at three A.M. he'll jerk awake.
Her bike once more has swerved in front of him
with no time for his foot to find the brake.
The way he sees it, now he lives for two.
He'll be her friend, whatever that might mean.
He'll share with her the things he's going through
every evening on his way to bed.
A simple courtesy shown for the dead.

10/6
Sonnets From Other Lives: Zack

Hi, I'm Zack.  I made this video
for the It Gets Better Project 'cause
being gay in high school's tough, I know.
But take heart.  Your life is not a total loss.
I came came from a small town in Idaho.
They started calling me a faggot in fifth grade.
I've been punched, slammed into lockers, so I know
how hard it is.  But I survived and made
it out of there & now my life is great.
See if you kill yourself you've let the bullies win,
& the good part of your life is worth the wait
'cause being fabulous is so the best revenge.
Stick it out.  Four years is not that long.
I does get better.  Trust me.  You stay strong.

8/5
Sonnets From Other Lives: Tia & Ty

The kid keeps screaming.  Tia's had enough.
Shoppers start to give her the stink-eye.
She gets in his face--tells him to shut up.
He just breaks out in a louder cry.
The wants a "tookie"?  That's just too damn bad.
He's lucky that he gets to eat at all.
He should know better than to make her mad.
He arches--throws himself & nearly falls
out of the cart.  She grabs some frozen peas
and cursing--throws them on the TV dinners.
Seething.  She knows goddamn well that she's
the one that will come out of this the winner .
But after that one time at Walmart
she knows to wait to get him in the car.

10/4
Sonnets From Other Lives: Andrew

STUPID PEOPLE! YOU DON'T EVEN KNOW!
ONE WRONG WORD CAN SET THE WORLD ON FIRE!
ONE ERRATIC THOUGHT CAN TURN THIS SNOW
INTO FLAMING LAVA!  O DENIERS
CAN'T YOU SEE THE LIZARDS IN THE STREETS?
THE LIZARDS WITH THEIR GUNS & UNIFORMS?
THE SIDEWALKS MELTING UNDERNEATH YOUR FEET?
THE HOLE FROM WHICH THIS PIECE OF SKY WAS TORN?
O YOU WHO WOULD CONSPIRE TO STEAL MY WORDS,
TO SUCK THEM LIKE A SPIDER FROM MY MIND,
YOU DON'T SUSPECT AT ALL THAT I HAVE HEARD
YOUR THOUGHTS & PLOTS. O NO I AM NOT BLIND!
THE SIGNS ALIGN!  THERE'S NOWHERE YOU CAN GO!
STUPID PEOPLE!  YOU DON'T EVEN KNOW!

10/3
Sonnets From Other Lives:  Ted

Ted spends way too much time in his car.
Just what percentage of his time is spent commuting?
He turns the volume down on NPR,
collates data & begins computing...
The 520 Bridge traffic flow crawls.
Cars idle--weirdly floating on the lake.
The radio declares some moron stalled
a couple miles up.  The Gates estate
is just ahead.  He sends Bill his greetings--
hears Microsoft is up another 8th.
Sailboats glide by.  He has a meeting
in Redmond in an hour. Will he be late?
A promo plays for Talk of the Nation
& he moves a car length toward his destination. 

10/2
Sonnets From Other Lives: Tank Grrl

I wasn't that athletic as a kid.
Always last when they were picking teams.
I was the fat chick.  In PE I hid.
Could not imagine in my wildest dreams
I could be talked into trying out for derby.
It was love at first sight. Absolutely rockin.
You put a girl on skates & let her be
totally badass in torn fishnet stockings.
I don't have the speed to be a jammer,
but I can knock most anybody on her ass.
Just zero in on some poor chick and slam her.
Too bad there wasn't derby in gym class.
O to meet some high school princess in a bout
& say --I'm Tank Grrl bitch. I'm gonna TAKE YOU OUT!

10/1
Sonnets From Other Lives : Bree & Dylan

Their eyes lock from across the crowded room.
She likes his t-shirt. (Vintage Sonic Youth)
A change of plans. (He was leaving soon.
The band was pretty lame to tell the truth.)
He's thinking 'bout that one song from The Streets:
"If she plays with her hair she's prob'ly keen..."
She's tapping on her beer can to the beat.
He's not exactly certain what that means.
The conversation borders intimate.
(Yelling mouth to ear over the bass.)
She thinks he's cute.  He thinks she's kinda hot.
(Not that he's invited to her place.)
He likes her sense of irony--her look--
He so is going to friend her on Facebook.

9/30
Sonnets From Other Lives: SueEllen

She's gone.  She didn't even take a coat.
That detail gnaws--relentless--at her mind.
She imagines her alone out in the cold.
Where did she fail?   How could she be so blind?
She tries to glean some clue out of the past
few days--replays the last few interations.
What vital question slipped away unasked?
What hidden slight demanded a retraction?
Outside the window nightfall swarms with danger.
She tries to tell herself it's only rain,
but cannot rid herself of those dark strangers
lurking in the shadows of her brain.
Is it too early to go to the phone?
She doesn't care.  She wants her baby home.

9/29
Sonnets From Other Lives: Donald

Donald doesn't worry anymore.
The small stuff floats away like a balloon.
The dinner dishes done--he's out the door--
jogging underneath the gibbous moon.
The demons had their day but now they're done.
He's learned to take it one day at a time.
Drawing strength from all these solitary runs
& the brave New Balance driving every stride.
He'll head for home & help wrangle the twins,
cuddle puddle reading Charlotte's Web,
help them through the sweetly tragic end,
then tuck them  carefully into their beds.
He'll watch T.V.--make love to his wife
& thank God for another chance at life.

9/28
Sonnets From Other Lives: Helene

This is the best part of the day--
the morning blooming like a teenage girl.
She makes herself a large care' au lait
& surveys her little corner of the world.
A cloud of bushtits swarms about the holly.
The breeze drops hints that autumn is awake.
She's thinking that she'll ring up her friend Molly
to catch up things and walk around Green Lake.
Freedom calls. She thinks she likes the book
& approves of Franzen's rehabilitation.
she settles herself in in the breakfast nook
& joins in with the Oprah Book Club Nation.

What's with these people?  She's sure she could give
those Berglands some advice on how to live.

9/27
Sonnets From Other Lives: Tim

He doesn't think about it anymore.
Doesn't need to--just follows the script.
Boot up. Open file. Type report.
Automatic.  Like a switch was flipped.
Who was it called them "veal fattening pens"--
these ecru labyrinths of cubicles?
His CV302 form's due at ten.
A meeting after lunch.  The day is full.
Roberta stops by bring him decaf.
They break for coffee & commiseration.
With her long athletic legs & flirty laugh,
she's a daily gift to his imagination.

At five he'll drive home, go to bed & then
get up & go & do it all again

9/26
Sonnets From Other Lives: Zero

You can call me Zero--as in nothin
& while you're at it drop a dollar in my paw.
Bet you hate the way that I just butt in.
on your complacency. There oughta be a law!
Would you be shocked to know I'm just 15
& living on the streets--a gutter punk?
Or that home is where the stepdad gets all  mean
& beats on me whenever he gets drunk?
Well I can eat three squares out of the dumpsters
& my posse keeps the pimps off of my ass.
People give me crap.  I take my lumps--sure
& I've been known to stoop to huffing gas.
But if you don't like it piss off & be gone
'Cos I'm the fucked up & forgotten face of freedom.

9/25
Sonnets From Other Lives: Gerald

Whan that aprill with his shoures soothe
triggers cherry blossoms in the quad,
the mad professor flees from his computer
to sing Franciscan canticles to God.
Odd behavior from an existentialist--
some vestigial ghost from Catholic school?
Did he become a medievalist
because he was enamoured with that cruel
holiness--all those saints & martyrs?

Lusty students sprawl about the lawns.
Nature pricketh hir courages ever harder.
The term ends Friday with all of them gone
to strange strondes: resorts, motels, lodges.
So longen folk to goon on Pilgrimages.

9/24
Sonnets From Other Lives: Frank & Tony

--Where is he.  Fuck. It must be after nine.
--Nine fifteen.  Go buy a fuckin watch.
--I pay assholes like you to tell the time
I don't like this.   I'm thinkin that he botched
the job.   The bastard set us up.
--Come on. He might fuck up but he's no rat.
--You think?  Fuck this. I've had more than enough
of this guy.  This aint' the first time that
I got a feeling somethin 'bout him stinks.
--Jimmy vouched for him--says he's OK
--Jimmy's a moron.   Who cares what he thinks.
This shit is bad.  You--make it go away.
--I think you're getting paranoid but shit
you're the boss Frank--I'll take care of it.

9/23
Sonnets From Other Lives: Harv

Those goddamn flowers were all sentenced to death
the minute someone clipped their stems.  The life
of each cut rose and baby's breath
wilts now beside the box holding my wife.
Myra chose the flowers--music too.
Ever dutiful--her mother's daughter.
I'm grateful she gives me nothing to do
but sit & be her helpless grieving father.
Some minister will stand up front & say
that all of this is part of God's great plan--
that Annie's resting in a better place.
Bullshit.  Her place is right beside me.  Here.
I won't give God a single goddamn tear.

9/22
Sonnets From Other Lives: Damien & Jaz

-- So whatcha think of that guy over there?
by the window pounding his computer?
--OK--I'll play. He's having an affair
with a cocktail waitress he picked up at Hooters.
--He's a Microsoftie.  He fakes writing code
when really he's engaged in IM sex.
--But the wife hacked his account & now she knows!
--He's packing up to leave.  I'm thinking next
he takes the waitress to a cheap motel.
--Where she hits him up for her kid's school supplies.
--No! We need a murder--some blackmail!
--Must you always make somebody die?
--Sex & violence, babe.  It's my conviction
life is boring.  Always stick with fiction.

9/21
Sonnets From Other Lives:  Tashia

I told my son we're going camping--and we were--
tenting in an unused parking lot--
a blue tarp village plopped down in the burbs.
It ain't much but then it's all we got.
We lost the house a couple months ago.
I lost my job a few months before that.
Finally there was nowhere else to go.

I watch my baby read.  The Cat in the Hat.
Next year he starts school  What do I say
when they ask me my address?  Nicklesville?
What if his new friends want to come and play
at our "house"?
                             At last the night is still.
Sleep my son.  Dream your American dreams
as mommy's life unravels at the seams.

9/20
Sonnets from Other Lives:  Dale & Robin

--I don't wanna talk.  Give it a rest.
--So I'm just supposed to live with your foul mood?
--It's like you're always giving me some a test.
Do we have to "process" everything we do?
--You're an emotional retard--  the way you pout
about some secret sin that I committed.
--As if talking with you helps!  I've come to doubt
that thinking for myself 's even permitted!
--Oh cut the crap! Think I don't know your game?
Your private little lists of all my crimes.
--So your position is that I should name
all the crappy stuff that you do all the time?
--Why do we do this? Look at us! We're wrecks!
--Myself? I'm in it for the make-up sex

9/19
Sonnets From Other Lives: Coyote

You see me.  Like a shadow in the fog
I run across the beam of your headlights.
What incongruity! A wild dog
inhabits your suburban paradise!
I would sing for you, but I know well
the loathing my survival can incite
in those who would bend nature to their will,
so I run--silent--through the night.
You changed my world but  I can live in yours--
invisible--adaptable.  Know that
I rule the night outside your doors--
preying on your trash and fatted cats.
You see me & you feel that thrill of fear
that something wild as me still exists here.

9/18
Sonnets from Other Lives: Carole

The girls & I are watching Sleeping Beauty.
The Princess dreams behind her wall of thorns.
My own Prince in Iraq--this tour of duty--
his third deployment since the kids were born.
We meet each week on Skype--proclaim our love.
He manfully disdains the pains of war .
(O Disney save me from the terror of
men in uniform at my front door.)
The last reunion scarred. He never spoke
about the ghosts that shared our bed at night.
Then there were the times when I awoke
to find him drinking hollow-faced by TV light.
The fairy tale ends.  I want to know
who will it be this time that comes home?

9/17
Sonnets From Other Lives:  Richard

You'd think 23 years would count for more
than a box to fill with crap out of your desk
and a security guard's escort out the door.
But when you're the old guy and your wife's has got MS
you become a red flag to new management.
Surprise. You're labeled a redundancy--
an easily disposed of net expense.
Waste two years trying to peddle your CV...
But at 56 years old?  An ailing wife?
You'd send their goddamn health care through the roof.
So it's down to bagging groceries.  That's just life
in this economy.  You see the proof
when you see guys from the office as you are
hauling someone's groceries to their car.

9/16
Sonnets From Other Lives: Gus

Don't you love this trail--that skyline rimmed with peaks
like some enormous dragon's lower jaw?
Used to come here every three-four weeks
but now I'm too damn old.  First time I saw
this place was with the 10th Mountain Division.
World War II--we trained on Mt. Rainier.
Lots of us after the war made it our mission
to hike & climb & ski the mountains here.
We were the wild men of the Beckey era.
We swarmed the peaks & bars.  Made first ascents
all up & down the Cascades & Sierras
in  army surplus wool & canvas tents.
So as you hike these mountains think on this my friend:
Wherever you go--Ive already been.

9/15
Sonnets From Other Lives: Bunny

The Queen reclines in her hospital bed--
an elephant set in the living room--.
the atmosphere oppressed by things unsaid
and the awkward proximity of doom.
Once my concerns were carpools, PTA,
the battlefields of marriage, raising kids.
With cancer all of that drifted away
& left a sense that everything I did
followed a script.  I met my engineer
right out of high school.  Married. Pregnant. Plopped
into a ranch house. He had his career
while I had children. And somehow that stopped
time.  In some strange way I feel like I
just froze in place as whole damn world flew by.

9/14
Sonnets From Other Lives: Rick

You're absolutely right. I am a leech.
It's my job to make your life a living hell.
But then I'm only here because you've reached
the apex. You're a brand--a thing that sells.
When magazines print only your first name
the consumer  knows that they refer you,
and covets false proximity to fame
by knowing all there is to know of you.
Then my telephoto shoots your cellulite.
My flash intrudes on your illicit meal.
I expose your face sans make-up because I
despise the arrogance of the unreal.
We rain lucre on you to be fabulous,
but you're just a gilded version of the rest of us.

9/13
Sonnets From Other Lives: Wolfman

Wake n bake, dude. Fire up the long
established ritual hit on last night's roach.
Take a bootleg live Dead tape & put it on.
Some instant coffee. Bowl of Cherrios.
Sit out on the stoop--check out the chicks
waiting for the bus in little packs
Giggling & texting. Seems my dick
still gets ideas.  Too goddamn late for that
shit now.  Guess I've become an old fart joke.
I'll head for Gasworks Park to watch the day
pass me by & take another toke.
What was that thing we always used to say...?

The Kite Hill sundial marks the hours as I
float barely tethered here above the sky.

9/11
Sonnets From Other Lives: Daniel

Rattlesnake beside the highway. Dead.
I pull over, cut the engine, take a look.
A big one.  Someone's tire took off its head,
not long ago--meats fresh enough to cook
tonight.  I throw it in the bed
and take it home--which is not much a prize--
a garden patch, a trailer, & a shack
just outside Ukiah. 
                               Guess some guys
got out of Nam unscathed--I wasn't one.
But then my dad was kind enough to croak
& leave enough insurance to buy the farm--
(the guys from my old squad would dig the joke)
I got my goat, my garden, grow my weed
& ask only that the world leave me in peace.

9/10
Sonnets From Other Lives: Brandi

Hey good lookin'. Whatcha havin, hon?
(It's November & I'm dressed in lingerie)
Does my frozen chicken skin get you turned on?
A double caramel mocha.  That OK?
I pull your drink while you stare at my ass
from your giant SUV.  My flirty smile
is your reward for that inept, pathetic pass.
That's three seventy five. But get this--while
you decide whether I'm only worth a quarter
or if I'm hot enough to keep the five--
I could  hock a loogie in your order
while you're ogling my butt. 'Cause buster I
need that tip. It's how the bills get paid.
So,  Take care honey. You have a nice day.

9/9
Sonnets From Other Lives: Hiro

See that tree? The little alpine fir?
Planted that one back in '52.
Pruned like one I saw on Mt. Rainier.
A history prof from the U.W.
lived here back then, and he hired me--
a part time student on the G.I. Bill
with a piece of German shrapnel in my knee.
Dad did bonsai. Taught me and I still
have his tools. Minidoka broke his heart.
He'd lost the store and me in Italy...
Didn't see much point in Nippon arts.
Thought of him a lot shaping that tree--
 a gnarled mountain fir in Laurelhurst.
It's what a thing looks like when it endures.

9/8
Sonnets From Other Lives: Peter

The foot sticks out, so I'm obliged to trip
with a convincingly humiliating fall.
Much as I'd rather throw a double flip
over his head and scramble up the wall...
Ah, but I've run the thought experiments.
(& it is thinking that's keeping me alive).
When I compute the causes and effects,
someone who matters to me always dies.
Tonight I'll swing above the city's canyons,
stand vigil on St. Patrick's tallest spire,
battle mutant thugs and their companions,
then rescue someone's baby from a fire.
But for now I sprawl and make this bully's day,
as the girl I love, embarrassed, looks away.

9/7
Sonnets From Other Lives: Abel

This midtown fare will mark the day's first trip.
A Chinese man bound for the lower east side.
who pays with squared-off blue-nailed fingertips.
Congenital heart defect.  I give a ride
to a yellow tinged cirrhotic alcoholic.
Today I think it will be getting hot.
New York in summer can make me nostalgic
for Harare-- market days.... Ah but I'm not
so welcome in Mugabe's paradise.
A white man in a wheelchair hails me.  Says,
"Thanks. Six other cabs just drove on by."
The Avenue of the Americas...
I ponder, Which diagnosis best fits me?
Physician? Chauffeur? Exile? Refugee?

9/6
Sonnets From Other Lives: Sean

I catch the #7--head downtown--
watch the drowsy city waking up.
My love is dozing under eiderdown.
I'm nursing coffee in a paper cup--
greedy for the lightness of this day.
What if the children queued at St. Jude's door
could hear what mornings like this have to say
about the promise every moment holds in store?
Old woman in a window looks across
the street and waits for life to pass her by.
Old Indian on the corner looking lost.
Commuters board.  No one meets my eye
.
I am burning with this memory:
The girl that I love gave herself to me.

9/5
Sonnets From Other Lives: Lissa

You know you didn't used to be like this--
the evasiveness--the fugitive eye contact.
You used to put some effort in a kiss.
Now it's like negotiating a contract.
So, Party of the First Part, tell me what
brings us to this tabled conversation?
Why do I sense we came to celebrate
the tragic end of your infatuation?
This wine is crap.  But you know I can see
why you'd pick this bistro for a break-up.
The quiet pretension does discourage scenes.
Shit. This night's a fucking waste of make-up.
I can't eat this. Everything is cold.
I was all in, but now you win.
I fold.

9/4
Sonnets From Other Lives: Meg

You never called, so what was I to think?
(The cat clock's tick-tock eyes scan right left right.)
I opened up the wine I'd bought to drink
with you & Fred Astaire tonight.
then caved and left a message.  What's the use?
(I'm thinking Ginger doth protest too much.)
No doubt you're still rehearsing your excuse.
I'm asking myself why I'm always such
a cliche' --Rapunzel in her flat
waits endlessly to buzz Prince Dick  inside,
'til finally she's reduced to hoarding cats
like some Dickensian rejected bride.
The merlot is asking, Notice how it feels
like your  life is dancing backwards in high heels?

9/3

I will celebrate
your geranium smile
your sensible shoes
when I in my dead man's suit
meet your mouth with this
eternal kiss

the war is over
in Times Square
& the air
has gone electric
with ardent promises

everything  is happening
at the same time
forever
though it is only
when we are holding
one another
that that secret
is ever
revealed

9/2

St. Freakin Francis
Bless this
kneeling fawn, this
swooning putti, this
irascible gnome.
O sad-eyed concrete saint,
your paint-pitted piety
still moves.  Your
mournful gaze graces a
chemically perfect lawn
with infinite compassion.
O San Francisco pray
for this marooned Big Wheel,
this mylar pinwheel,
this calico sentinel.

The landscape abides.
The sprinkler ticks.
The azalea rests in
its cedar chip bed.

Pax vobiscum.

9/1
Being chary
of fulminate
voices, of incendiary
blasts from  the disputant
bloviators who harry
with dissonant
blasts of mercenary
conviction, I fear the covenant
with rationality has been buried--
rendered irrelevant
by these diversionary
meme blasts.  The incognizant
confuse reality with the imaginary.
Askant
we watch. Wary
lest noise finally completely supplant
truth.

8/31

Dawn finds the day distending
like an aneurysm.  Slender
threads unravel, rending
gravity--upending the ascender.
Whatever cards and stars would be portending
will befall before the fates can surrender
themselves. (Bending
like barflies before bartenders)
A sigh.  I rise, rendering
up whatever my intentions might engender.

8/30
As the food supply
upon which we rely is
a copyrighted monocultured
all too shallow
gene pool of virtual
Irish potatoes,
I have to wonder
how it all will fair
in the Brave New Climate
we are building.

Will we
in our sagacious obesity--
(with tens or thousands
of monatized compounds
dancing in our DNA)--
dredge wisdom enough
to yank the needles
from our greedy veins
in time?

& if not--then when
the sky goes dark
who will build
the fucking ark?

8/29
here
under a ladder
third on a match
on Avenue Chat Noir...
while
these things don't
always catch one out
when the dropped shoe
lands on you
it's hard not to take it personally

far be it from me
to begrudge the urge
to succumb to the seduction
of connection
or even superstition

we want these things
& so they become our genius
& we can't abide the cruelty
of doubt before credulity

8/28
Would I could opt
for a more labile reality...
e.g.
...an archly sensitive laugh track
...subtitles noting the inner monologues
of passing strangers
...an arresting crawl of  dadaist headlines
along my vision's periphery
...pop-ups of emergent ironies
...visually graphic onomatopoeia

The talking unicorns
& time traveling jetpacks
don't tempt me
like life lived like
the tropes on T.V.

8/27
re: The Heroic Quest...
Having been
-sourced in requisite Mystery
-cloaked in tropes
ancient as mitosis
-called to action
by visions & voices
-mentored by
the appropriate memes
of my culture
to follow this yellow
brick autobahn--
I would hock
my toolkit
for a hand-
full of magic beans
& with them feed
each encountered monster
home made frijoles--
(the food of love)--
not so much as to
impress those distressed
damsels who swoon
over displays of mystical powers (i.e.
cooking chops & compassion)
but because every perfect gesture
in the school of tragedy  must
be performed at least
once before the audience
is finally excused & that's one
I still need to
Chekhov...