1.        Duster
    2.        Sons of Babble
    3.        On the Nose
    4.        Oh God, Tomorrow
    5.        The Fareman
    6.        Sticky
    7.        On Sixth and Green
    8.        Done Everywhere
    9.        Walter Ego
    10.        Babylon Afternoon
    11.        Earth Infinities
    12.        Shopper


    I am space dust
    leftover heavens
    spare pares for stars
    tracked by comets flying
    all around the cosmic household

    Now serving on fine China
    sitting on shelf tops
    sleeping under beds
    retiring in cracks
    and relaxing

    Until the housemaid comes along
    plucks me up in her duster
    and shakes me back


    The people of earth
    speak now only in
    flat, parallel technologies.
    None can understand the other.
    specialists do not recognize
    other specialists.

    Soon power is gained
    by the sons of Babble.
    Information tracks are remixed
    one by one adding together
    as beams become a bridge.
    Techniques turn into understanding
    while a new language is spoken.

    As tubes are turned on
    specialists’ walls are crossed
    easily by everyone.
    Videokids create
    global electronic bridges
    between all the people of earth
    and themselves


    Everything I see

    is Jello

    on the nose of a Joker

    who has missed his Dinner

    while waiting for a Train

    to Heaven

    where he can see without looking.


    Friday night
    shadows on the windows
    haunt the train far away.
    Giggles echo through tower tree parks
    as midnight ramblers bring home the day
           just thinking longingly
           wishing they could make it last
           “Oh god, tomorrow” they’ll say.

    For the workers
    a waiting blues
    walks the aisles tonight.
    Friday’s check is due next week
    and till then there is nothing left but
           just thinking longingly
           wishing they could make it last.
           “Oh god, tomorrow” they’ll say.

    Last train now
    by this time running empty
    eats a spark for dinner.
    Leaning back and roaring
    easily ahead another mile while
           just thinking electronically
           it will never say
           “Oh god, tomorrow.”


    Cross the way
    with the fareman;
    whether beggar, worker, chief,
    fares come one by one surely
    wizardry or luck he shows
    there’s no hand here
    no tools there to make it all
    just fareman magic running tall
    humming now coming on across the day
    saying only pay the way
    only pay the way.

    All he knows
    no time to rest
    laboring to find his own
    settlement from out of the air
    to sleep awhile and call it home
    until the next one comes along
    a hand appears across the gate
    sinhce working hours have come so soon
    to start the craft and take the wheel
    all that must be done todayk
    if only one does pay the way
    only pay the way

    *        *        *

    He crosses rivers streams of time
    without a friend but copper coins
    riders’ toll for changing places
    having nothing much to do
    but come to give it all away
    give it all to pay the way
    only pay the way.

    Fareman simply
    stands aloof
    hand on head looking to the sky
    counting spinning ticket wheels
    many measures of his mind
    business of “give the business”
    grows in kind.

    made of travelers’ dust
    need a chest and lock to hold
    guarded by the outer heavens
    earning more than six percentage point
    that the Fareman saves himself
    the way fares come and go
    saying only pay the way
    only pay the way.


    The truly poorest child

    has the biggest piece of bubble gum

    and can’t blow a bubble.


    Watching on the corner
    action easy
    bus and car kids
    of game vehicle parents
           go loop scooping tonight

    Corner deli closes early
    leaving eaters to the streets
    soaking like pickles in exhaust
    quarter beer runs ‘em
           pack after pack on summer nights

    No one talks to
    Bobber in his GTO
    who thought he could stop
    and take in all the sights
           all that fun for one

    Coming in late
    the nights have what you need
    until the light goes red
    down at the corner of
           Fifth and Green.


    Do everywhere
    do in the air
    floating between us
           walk and talk too
    words of we do
    dirty words of do’ers
    small and snickery
           nose tickling do’s

    Do in the air
    do it in pairs
    fornicating dew
           laid on the ground
    do under beds
    stuck into sweat
    old and well traveled
           get it on do

    Do a double dare
    do in a country fare
    fighting and huffing
           settling on losers
    do’s on the field
    dues of the players
    ready for action
           three out of five do

    Do that is there
    do that is rare
    secret and unseen yet
           waiting at night
    Do of old books
    do in test tubes
    not yet defined
           experimental doings

    Doing a prayer
    do never care
    wishing and hoping not
           left all alone
    Dreams of doing
    do for today
    always created
           everywhere done


    The city shudders
    as engines cough and die
    using fantasy for fuel’
    concrete and steel dreams
    eating breakfast made of soot
    try to move in the morning,
    gasping to make it on time.

    While reaching to the sky
    a lone pillar, silent and feeble,
    struggles in its stone mind
    to feel the breeze,
    to find the light heaven has sent,
    but ends up wondering just how.

    Cracks first begin
    before mortar has begun to set.
    Progress means to move along
    while upper stories build on voids
    fill up with air.

    As though time could be bent
    like plastic everywhere
    to cover up what stays behind
    directions, changes, losses counted
    then entered on the tally sheer
    grow impossible to keep in mind,
    slip past any understanding.

    *        *        *

    Scoreboard winners change every day
    but not every player wins.
    Future is the joker waiting on every card
    for gambles taken and taxed
    till one tomorrow
    then forever free.

    Silent dreams have always known
    while prophets smile to themselves
    showing all who learn
    they can tell the wind’s new direction
    circling the pillar, Babylon’s Tower
    till the last day arrives.

    Once a quiet sea gave birth to the land
    and to life and living
    now lost in the mazes of daily accounting,
    the counting and forgetting
    as if there is nothing lasting to know.

    The city shudders
    though no one may be afraid
    that the afternoon will look any different’
    with certainty this season will pass.
    At the end of all this dreaming,
    feeling unfelt, sight unseen,
    the falling tower itself will warn us
    we will wake up too late.

    Then live.


    While speaking of space

    But walking in lines

    We waste two dimensions.

    Sing a song of circles.

    Where is the conductor

    Who knows every score?

    Who can lead us all together

    While directing us alone?


    Glides around the avenue
    Never looking left or right.
    She painted fine
    But over all the lines;
    Her face is

    Reads vacation newspapers
    Fore readers now read radios;
    Morning coffee grows to four,
    Dreams live in the bloodstream,
    Futures sell at pharmacies;
    Shoppers’ share is growing small.

    Turns around a corner-
    A foxy eye’s glitter
    Flies across the street;
    Looks very narrowly,
    Checks oh so carefully for “What
    You buy is what you be;”
    Except for one essential thing:
    The money is