Golden hair

Golden hair


I remember

You now

We walked

From school

We couldn’t pay

The bus fare

Or at least

We used

the money

to play

the pinball

in Luigis

on the Square


to the Supremes

on the Juke box

or maybe

the Blue Jeans


You’d hold

Me tight

Your eyes wide

So bright

And then laugh

And spin away

To jive

In that way

And look

At me again.



Walking from school


The walk from school


Walking home

from school

with a friend.

She golden

wrinkled haired

laughed smiled

I remember

her green eyes

the same year

Sylvia Plath

died alone.

The gas oven.

Town gas.

And she walked

home from school

to find her mother

lying down there

on the kitchen floor.

And Jackie

Had gone too.


Blessed days

A second hand
John Clare’s
Collected Poems
mint condition.
The spine unfolded.
Then a surprise
Ruth Benedicts
(my hero)
Race and Racism
from 1942.
Days like this are blessed.
Sitting now
in quietness
familiar lines.

Gesture suicide

Gesture suicide

(in memory of Orlando and all atrocities)


Lets not confuse


With that hopeless


Of the man

who believes

he’s nobody

and decides

to undertake

an act

of such horror

that no one

will ever


his name.

Gesture suicides

are about that,

just that.

So lets agree

not to call them



or psychopaths.

Just men

who’ve come

to believe

that they

are nobodies

stuck in a world

of the nobody

And who act

In an absence

of good faith

to take lives

so that they

will be


for something

at least.

They act

in an absence

of goodness.

The mark

of the pathetic.