remainder

'twould be a hyperbolic crime
to say i miss you all the time
since quitting so quickly, if not too soon
i've only pined on one full moon
and i don't need you anymore
between, say, half past three and four
a.m. at least - tuesday's aren't bad
if mercury's in retrograde
nor will you find me sitting home
whene'er the date's a palindrome
how can i claim i often grieve
when every leap year brings reprieve?
but pity me the moments, if any be left over
for the redundant love left in a quondam lover

occultation

The dimmest constellation in the sky
Looked brighter for two nights, no one knew why
She makes the Penn astronomers look silly
Who could see stars, with Venus in West Philly?

up to eleven

If I were old and heavy-hearted,
this young romance could not have started,
making October into spring,
and me able to anything.
I don't know, an adult might say,
you well enough to feel this way,
nor does mere pilot data prove
a trend, long looked for, up to love.
But if it's immaturity
to want what I can barely see -
your heat, your hipbones, your shy smiles,
set off by clothes, a hundred miles,
a baker's decade flecked with rage -
then I don't plan to act my age.

trying to listen to fleetwood mac on the 7 train

sometimes the sun shines anyway
i thought i wanted rain
suddenly mariachis play
la bamba, break the chain

the light at the end of the tunnel

If you lived at the end of the line
I could sleep on the train with impunity
And rather than cursing this needless reversing
I'd awaken right in your community

Coney Island, Canarsie, Court Square
I'd be near you if you lived near there
Though it's surely pitch dark up in Pelham Bay Park
We could take in the fresh night air

Now in Boston a man long deceased
Couldn't pay when the T fare increased
But I'd trade him this card not to be drunk and tired
On a platform in New York East

To Far Rockaway isn't that far
When passed out in the first A car
I'd be sleeping around but reliably found
Where you lived at the end of the line

to his rash mistress

if we were running out of time
this rashness, baby, were no crime
your headstone's second date's not nigh
ours would be old news when you die
having forgot our first impressed
you little sober, less re-dressed
(or were you just too satisfied
to want again what you once tried?)
'twas not your deathbed where we slept
you won't recall much there except 
a rush from one fool to the next
not whether you returned some text
or ever gave another kiss 
to somebody who sent you this

the joker ain't the only fool

the queen of spades had dug a pit
for which the queen of diamonds paid.
the queen of clubs pushed him in it.
the queen of hearts peered down and said,
"with me you could've had a chance,
until i heard about your arm,
you're heading straight for indigence,
and god, what happened on that farm?"
"it wouldn't matter," he replied,
"that i can't fill three other suits,
if i could court my fitting bride
without her sisters in cahoots.
i'll never be a king except in love,
and we should start a flush." face-first, she dove.