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MIRROR IMAGE
Each morning when I lookinto the mirror I imagineI see me, but of course thatis impossible, for in that momentonly the mirror sees meand I see the mirror. How deluded I must beto assume that I look at alllike the mirror, but it is,I know, just such delusionsthat enable my sense of self,and that is…
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AROMA
What I want, no, need actually,is to remember the smells of youth.The images I can recall, but they areaged pictures, run repeatedly throughthe Photoshop of memory, andcannot be trusted only desired. The old, half ready to fall oak,in the Salt Lake City park hada faint pungency that lingeredeven as I departed my body asthe acid…
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SONGWRITER
Bob Dylan is, to the best of my knowledge,the only songwriter to successfully rhymeoutrageous and contagious, which doesn’texplain why I knew I could never bea successful songwriter in this life. The explanation is far simpler, it was whenLeonard Cohen served me tea and apricots,said he hated the river even living in Montrealand said I should…
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GROUNDED
it was so much easier when I could stillimagine myself a bird, untetheredand free to take flight on a whim. In dreams I often flew, no Icarusbut a raptor, peering down, seeingwith a clarity the earth denied me. Now my roots have taken holdin the enmeshing soil plunged deepand spread tendrils anchoring me, and even…
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ANCIENT AMONG ANCIENTS
As we walked slowly through the Forumthe Coliseum receding into the lateafternoon, the Virgins stood patientlyas befits a priestess trained to avoidthe stares of passing men, even touristssuch as we were, the columns staringdown reminding us of our youth despite the birthdays that we celebratedwith the joy of togetherness, andthe nagging knowledge that we wereanother…
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THE MIND’S BLIND EYE
He imagined the end was coming,but that was his problem, imaginingfor it was about all he was capable of doing. He started small, near visualizationmore than imaginings, but he grew moreproficient with practice, his ideas his conceptions of an increasinglygrander scale, until from a single threadhe could weave a tapestry that boggled even his mind,…
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ON ARRIVAL
This morning arrivedwith a painful slowness, the slothof irregular dreams refusing to concedeto the light struggling to creep aroundthe blinds that hide the oversize windows. It had been that sort of night,sleep arriving and departing witha frustrating lack of constancy, my bodyuncertain of its proper placement ,the mattress offering no easy solutions. Conceding the failure…
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CUTTING THOUGHTS
My wife pauses by the placardin the nature preserve and tells methat what I have been calling grassesare in fact a sedge known as sawgrass. She points out the warning thatit’s serrated on the edge and earnedits name from those who graspedit without knowing or thinking first. I feign listening but she knowsmy mind is…
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A CITY LIKE ALMOST ANY OTHER
somewhere within three blocksof here a limo is disgorgingor swallowing up passengers a child is dreaming of takinglessons on a piano or violinof Carnegie or Alice Tully Halls a woman is rememberingwhat the touch of his fingersfelt on her cheek, tracing her jaw, not shattering it,a tagger prepares for battlecarefully loading his makeshift holster after…
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FATHERING
Recalling it now, the sight had to be absurd,and I suspect it was at the time,but as its beneficiary then. I darednot say anything, I’d mastered that already. My father in khakis and a poor excusefor a flannel shirt, Goodwill no doubt,but you had to have one just for occasionslike this, not that they would…
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an old writer and his words 