Existential Licks

The
jazzman
perches
under an eave
while his sax
riffs
corners
until
the closing
of lights
when
dragging
       h
       i
        s  m
            u
            s
            i
           c
         h
        e
       f
     a
   d
        e         t.
          s    u
             o

Metamorphosis

Some nights under covers
rantings disturb my skin.
I change within. I take on claws
and grin. I prowl the yards, dark alleyways
chasing shadows and any moving thing.
On the look-out for a scent. A squeal..
Perhaps you’ve seen at night
a yellow glow that lies
there in my lit-up eyes
or my stare by wheelwells.
Always on the move, always ready,
I pick my way and roam.
The living entertains my eye—
but the sight of the silver mouse
flickering in the moonlight
is the catch that most satisfies
my tongue. When I slip
the silver beast between my teeth,
  the streets hear my howl

So Much Needs to Go

               I think about you waiting for a bus to take you
to your early morning job picking up the trash of others
when you’ve left so much. So much needs to be hauled
away. So much needs to go. I've thought about you
rising in the early morning to get to the bus stop
by 5:45. I've imagined you poised between
darkness and dawn on a corner
standing with a lit
Marlboro.

                    The many times I tossed you a ball and
taught you how to stretch your swing and plant
your feet at the plate. Now you must make
your own stance. You never liked
your glasses. Now contacts cover
the failings of your sight.
May you find the way
and see the light.

          May the needle’s end not be your end.
The last withdrawal have been your last.
May the double-dealer not spot you
in an alley seeking that fix that
is no fix. May the morning star
that hails the way find you
on the corner waiting.
May tomorrow find
you rising.