Starting out on
a new page
at my culpable age
is sun dawn

Setting words down
you get the hang
of the Big bang
without the frown

Sending Eve and Adam out
is very old
like moldy gold
when your teeth are naught.

So I let it go
with all I’ve got
it’s a melting pot
that ends just so . . .

Been watching
myself for years:
mirrors in the morning
shop windows
eyes of strangers
faces of friends
sighs of aquaintances
murmers of critics
feints of opponents
letters from businesses
lovers’ hesitations

and I’ve been
measuring my ability
to blend into a crowd
grab attention
tell a joke
confess a sin
lead a revolution
accept failure

and I’ve decided
it’s okay to start
living. Amen.

The old man is beating
the bass drum, again:
rumba-dump! bam!
rumba-dump! bam!
upstairs, so far upstairs
his giant farts are steaming up
the sky . . .

We hide in vain
we’re already in the rain,
and if pollen mixes in
with that old yellow pain
that passes from Old Drain:
it’s really pissing down . . .

Please, no huge hail
old guy; no huge hail:
we have enough
obscenity in the mail
with ads from everyone
including places selling
stuff I’d never buy.
I don’t know why they try.

We live down here
at the bottom
of the greed chain
still trying what passes
for passing water
while it rains
in mortal pain again.

[This was written under the influence of Leonard Cohen’s latest collection: Book of Longing]