2020, New Poems: workings and beginnings., Uncategorized

Hey, Hey, Hey [a night at the opera]

Hey, Hey, Hey
[a night at the opera]

Wolf glances up
through the glass walls
which line the kitchen.
People, waiting to be seated,
stare in
at the kitchen exhibit
of controlled chaos.

Wolf spots Miss Tiggers
in her black dress,
cut low
freckled cleavage
and then goes back to
making deserts.

He spins around
and takes some more orders
from the printer
as it prints ’em out;
and goes about
building plates of sugar, flour, and cream.

He starts to hum
and a song comes out
from under this breath,
as he puts the desserts
upon the stainless steel shelf
and begins the next order.

‘Hey, hey, hey, hey, hey.
lookin’ thro’ the window of my cage.
watching her with my gaze.
Hey, hey, hey, hey, hey.’

Wolf spins around.
opens the cooler door behind him,
grabs a Crème Brule
and spins back around.
to the rhythm of the song in his head.

‘Hey, hey, hey, hey, hey.’

He rolls Raw Sugar
over the top of it,
levels it out.
reaches out,
grabs the torch,
precedes to light it,
and then flips it,
singing his little song.

‘Hey, hey, hey, hey, hey.
looking thro’ the window
kinda going crazy
thinking ’bout a lady.
Hey, hey, hey, hey, hey.’

He drops the Crème Brule on a plate;
he’d ready on the stainless steel shelf
drops a Madeleine on the top,
dusts it with powdered sugar,
and starts to the next order,

‘Hey, hey, hey, hey, hey.’


Nervous Tongue

Seven years,
I’ve gone without.
Seven years,
I learned to be with myself.
Seven years,
I worked.
Nothing but.
Seven years,
I’ve waited.

Now what do I say?

Certainly not the stupid stuff
my mouth has been spewing
for the past hour.

I can hear my head groaning
-Oh my god!
Hey, don’t listen to him.
Tongue is nervous.
He’s been silent for so long.
My ears do work.
If mouth would just shut up.



“So time has passed.”
I told her over the phone.
“I work for French fries, orange juice and a beer.
I play the game.
I dance the dance.
My mind and I don’t get along.
Sometimes I just go outside.
or smoke a cigarette.
Then I come back
and establish myself back
in front of stainless steel,
heat lamps, & cutting boards,
with the heat of the French stove
basking my back at 451,
asking myself

I’d ask you.


Too Early

I wanted the light inside
to awaken
not just flood in
so bright
that it blinded us.

I wanted our eyelids
to rise with the sun,
ray by ray
echoing through the depths
of the aged tree
within the tranquility
of a spring
rolling from the mountain ridge
swept into the river
to make its way to the ocean.

I wanted our dreams
to drift
waking at the edge
of the great falls;
by the edge,
fishing pole
put down.

I wanted to orbit the star
as I studied the magnitude,
not collide
scorching sheets
and sleeping bag.

“Times are hard for dreamers.”
Name-Giver stated.

yea, maybe
but I can cook a good meal.
What does that give me?

“Probably not that much”

But I can do it
for 250 people in one night.

“What does that matter?”


Go to sleep.”