Wood & Bone

Wood and bone keys on the old 88,
sprung and wired like a
skeletal Underwood.

One machine writes
On bond and bank
Before and back
It’s wordings are historical.

One machine plays
Songs for the troops
Your Nan and Pop
The music sounds empirical.

Bang on the keys on the old 88,
dusts and shudders like a
skeleton under wood.

Stem Winder


The twist of the knob,
the spring winds tight,
the ribbon loosens
until it is light.

A second ticks by,
A second ticks by,
A second ticks by,

Stem Winder.

The time is precise,
the spring runs true.
The moment loosens
without the glue.

A second ticks by,
A second ticks by,
A second ticks by,

Stem Winder.

Milk As Metaphor

The milk straight from the KELVINATOR
was as cool as the William Carlos Williams plums of
my 1980s youth.

Those were years of turbulence as I drove to
learn in a concrete bunker in my Ford Maddox Ford.

I scratched my disappointment in the dirt.

Milk as cold as night.
Milk as cold as the Liberal Party.
Milk as cold as poison from a man-made glass nipple.

I lie on the couch and give that Freudian another
$200 that I borrowed from my mother.