Creeley’s Poems


Creeley's Poems
 
Each sound
knocking
on the silence
it creates.
 
Tired torn from these apologies
these poems
these apologies
and it always comes back to the heart
of the issue found in a buzz‑lit mirror
in a bathroom surrounded
by well adjusted voices
always on the other side of a bathroom door.
 
On the A train
the ragged man mad
at the nasty voices
in his own mind
dials an imaginary phone
and weeps at the news
all the way to 42nd Street
weeping.
 
Shortstops
field a barrage of bad hops.
 
This old man
hadn't had these apologies
these poems
these apologies
to relieve the barrage
and this once young face
takes a train
on September 28, 1980
and weeps to Times Square.

He paces, paces


He paces, paces
nothing changes
He paces, paces
no place to go
but out
  he jobless
he paces, paces
to a liquor store
ashamed
and needs a drink.

Gandhi comes riding a crocodile

 Gandhi comes riding a crocodile
down the streets of Paris
 
and this time around he should
last name first on down
to the Instant Education Game
and take a class in Spanish.
 
There's good money to be made
for an enterprising saint
in love with skinny women.
 
Living Gandhi was a pain in the arse
but Gandhi dead they eat him up.
 
 
Cool Deli Window
Gandhi's tongue and pickle too
and his fried heart
wrapped in grape leaves,
 
but please, don't wrap
my sandwich
in his funky underwear
 
really!

Gandhi comes riding a crocodile


Gandhi comes riding a crocodile
down the streets of Paris
 
and this time around he should
last name first on down
to the Instant Education Game
and take a class in Spanish.
 
There's good money to be made
for an enterprising saint
in love with skinny women.
 
Living Gandhi was a pain in the arse
but Gandhi dead they eat him up.
 
 
Cool Deli Window
Gandhi's tongue and pickle too
and his fried heart
wrapped in grape leaves,
 
but please, don't wrap
my sandwich
in his funky underwear
 
really!

Only October Can Be This Way


Only October Can Be This Way
For Doris Brautigan
 
The crowd on 6th Avenue
was a foreign movie badly dubbed.
The wind snatched words from people's faces
and threw their grunts all over the place.
 
A language you've seen but never heard.
 
"Colonel Bleep's
  behind this inexplicable evil
  pervading the air..."
 
She said, casually,
so as not to upset me.
It was true, he was!
 
Beyond these streets, these coffee saucers
littered with torn sugar packets
bearing birds and historical women,
back beyond to a floor deep in our memories
where we, fingers in mouth, squatted
and watched the spheroid colonel
from the Planet Television who blipped
and bleeped like a digital radio with throat cancer.
 
We kissed and hugged
and Parised all over New York.
 
Hours later
I watched her disappear
up 5th Avenue,
never having known her name,
never expecting to see her again!
 
All sad in the final world
and excited about
my last few hours on Earth.

Drowned Boy


Drowned Boy
 
Cut-off jeans
and orange hair
 
skin, a faded robin's egg.
 
Thick water of his mouth,
a line of blood etched
elegantly from his nostril.
 
Everyone else had big eyes.

Madonna and Child


Madonna and Child
 
Brown eyed and blue robed
with angels at her feet
this virgin is 800 years old.
What a weight for one's lap
a genius stuffing grapes
in his mouth while angels
strum Renaissance banjos.
 
Wow! Some of these Christ kids
are built like G.I. Joes
standing full star
on the lap of a naive angel.
 
Hey Christ kid
what's your gig? Here
in God's pussyless house
you and your mom
poised in a mahogany vulva.
 
Monks go to and fro
dousing God sweat
on the sorry eyes
of mud dwellers in the Dark Ages.

I woke into another man’s day


I woke into another man's day
and grumbled his opinions over his newspaper
and kissed his wife at the morning door
and the bus driver knew his name and his special
curse for Monday and the waitress knew his eggs
like he likes 'em
and I finally understood the stocks and bonds pages
and could nod confidently at his secretary
and on his desk his wife is sad in the eyes of her photo
and makes me think of all the operations crisscrossing
her belly and in his drawer I find brochures
of bright Miamis
and later I eat his meal and see his reflection
on the microwave oven and watch his children silent
stare, pushing pot roast slow across their plates
into the mush of mashed potatoes
and through his door into the cool evening mist, I kneel
in his knees, look up to where the mute stars
shine and put his face into my opened hands.

Money


Money
 
Shakespeare guys had a bill called an angel.
O money I'd be an angel with some of you.
Delightful dust that roots all evil
how I root for you!
Money I'll be your champion
and slay the do goody whale savers
and daddy hating 3rd world revolutionaries.
Money Money Money Money Money Money
checks cannot touch you.
Ah with a hundred
I could girl my sidewalk
with a high strutting babeous blonde
and we could drink in a soft smoky bar.
I'd people my temple
with Vestal bank telling virgins
for a single hundred.
Grant my purse a fifty.

It’s alright talkin’ Troy with the Deli


It's alright talkin' Troy with the Deli
man's wife. A real Greek, she peeks o'er my
news sheet, speaks of the prince, the satyr
and the night in a bowl, riddled with stars.
"It be some tink!" she says from the dusk brown
rounds of her eyes, sending me a sigh's veranda;
the distant sails laying trails on a sea,
skin of silver with a heart wine dark.
But then the lunch crowd comes commanding
sandwiches of salami, baloney and ham
each named by number, thus these cuts
are cold indeed and baptized in vinegar.
Our sirocco all but blown,
what remains is gas alone.