The Shortest of Stories

for Alan

There was a child born without a brain
That's right, without a brain

He had a body and a head
but no brain

But where there was supposed to be a brain
there was a spout
From which poured out
the most wonderful music

So it was a happy story
and they named the boy Alan

Buying A Home

But if I have to do it again
at least I know it is not just me who's crazy
not the least of statements to make or
kind of like being at the end of a pillar of salt

Ordinary in its taste but not in it's design
forever forgetting your fucking keys

Almost when I think you are getting it
my algebra gets worse and
every time I hum that tune
right in the middle of a very important thought
it dissolves into pancake batter
causing this disturbance which
all along had nothing to do with anything

In Candle Swims The Night

in candle swims the night a porous angel of daytime ripe. for what is the pluck but a sentimental dream found in old Hollywood. teak-wood cask the mask my eyes bloodshot in that picture...I've had some life in the digestion. there is a hole there where dreams get mixed in with the analytical, slight absence and then stretched like dough over your skin. hastes that border street-lined Connecticut depression road...old as the firehouse looks new, afresh in its madness.

I dip a finger in and the candle sinks and floats covered in discarded leaves. time ticks away from us in time as we elbow through...not wanting to...