beginning dance

sitting across from you

after work

my knees hurt

my shins sing

a violin concerto

talking & listening

eating burgers

that could be worse

but could also be much

better

its windy &

rainy outside

tv's blare a

football game

inside

we just yack away;

i watch your fingers

& hands & i watch mine, too--

i play with the brown napkin

under my water glass:

i roll the corner of the

napkin then

unroll & rub my

finger over it trying

to smooth it out

& listen as you talk

about who you are,

where you've been

& what you're all

about

What Passes for Knowing

Out in the snow I am
underneath awake
with my arms on a pine
bough legs over the
brown needles.

All things are seen.
The wild grass has not fallen over
underneath the weight
of snow. The deer pawing at
the roots.
The land so wide it goes
to the edges.

This cap was made for me and
my ears are warm.

See the ice on all things. So quiet; we
have eaten up the sounds except
the clicks that our ears hear.

All this passes away before the stern light when
the city mounts these hills. Cars
idle among the rocks. Bridges lie on
the creek. And even
these boughs are windowpanes
clattering in chill.

What you knew,
and I knew,
will curl in the corner of the room
and point its face
towards forget.

failed piss poem

i need to stop writing poems
like this

about nothing in essence
but i can't help it

its "how i do"

i wanted to write a poem
about taking a piss

in the men's room

but it bogged
down

i tried to bring
in the rules

you know,
the rules:

look straight ahead
study the wall

(admire the tile
& grout work)

don't talk to the
guy next to you

better yet
a whole urinal

between the two of
you-- its better that way

don't look down

shake twice
zip

wash your hands
leave

then i was going to
write about the

antiseptic smell
& the bright

florescent lights
the blue floors

& the gray
walls

& maybe throw a zinger
or two about the

dudes that talk on
cellphones while

droppin deuces in
the stalls

but it just didn't work
nothing there

i tried a
couple of times

but nothing except maybe
a crude aside

so i threw my hands up
(washed with soap & water

under the cold water tap--
that's all they have in the men's room)

& said "never mind, it
wasn't that good a poem

anyway"