Birthday Song

On that day,
stars of the ancient land
opened like widening eyes
in a blue night expanding
edges of the universe,
as we approached each other
dressed in robes of brown lambs wool
asking how to start over,
hands raised in tents like olives
on smooth stones as round as hope
with tongues minted from basil,
not starting from some checkpoint,
no, but wanting to dimple
the granite fissure of time,
to smile whiter than the pearls
of a newborn's first milk teeth,
with rubies glowing as deep
as the color of friendship,
see after these long years how
two old flames find each other,
ah, the touch of foot on soil,
the fit of lock to a key
in a place where ends find beginnings,
where hearts are not hostages,
where drums regard distance,
and the world is created once again.

First Light Love

for Diki

Once I thought I'd found love
but it was a monkey skin
swinging from a curtain rod.

When I tickled its chin,
it jabbed me with toenails.
I felt so pricked,

spotted with holes,
a constant downpour raining
through my shocked mouth.

So much for that story.
Now I think love is a cream
for rubbing on my chest

that makes me smell good
when I step out of the bath,
softening my heart

with a certain carelessness,
and something else.
You are my first light love.

Ballot Language

Some people want to hide the taxi on your tongue. "Talk ballot language. No lies. Say either Yes or No." Stalling for time, you squeeze out a few more words about how some stupid asshole politician doesn't have a clue and probably will never have a clue even if someone handed him a magnifying glass to read all the answers, which only gets a pained look and you don't know what to do except to keep explaining what he said in the taxi looking to find weapons of mass destruction. Always maybeing. Call the Scheherazade help line. You like details, want to know the color of a ribbon on a dress, how the clouds were tacked in the sky, or the taste of macaroni and cheese as it clots on your tongue. Your big mistake is in believing other people want to hear the same thing. No, they don't, mouthwonk. Details confuse things. They hide the hedgerow. If you give a shunt, whoops, there goes the operation. Wheels and all. Check the macaroni. Blame technology. Blame Gatekeepers who need to hire more police officers for special events. Then it comes down to, “Do we have the money: Yes or No?” Check the square box. Run with the wolves. Hail a cabbie. Tell me the way to Happy Hour.