When I was a musician's musician
I used to be a poet's poet
then a black box

Turned off the alarm system
according to the script
at this time the outcome

Is unknown
and I
am a professor of indeterminacy

In collaboration
with my trusted business partners
the birds

Who inhabit this hillside platform
enduring the confused status
of a forklift upgrade

They sing and I
merely stare at apples
and occasional other fruit

Citrus combine of this belated orchard
in Little Romania
next to where water

Cascades down steps that lead
to something not immediately
identifiable as such

A febrile dog
ripping the hell out of
an inflatable wading pool

Such are the pleasures
of Little Romania
the sky

An unvariegated deadpan blue
the mild undertone of desolation
dusted with erotic chimes

It would be foolish to think
and I have no intention
in keeping with this interoperable crepuscule

We are open
the advent of standards is a boon
hail to the salt in our wounds

We hold these truths
faster than speed
it never entered my mind

Here in midsummer
the day is long
the train sound recoils in the hills

Every bit of mental ice
is used up
in the emotional juice we drink

And words mean nothing
and the movies suck
less than our heart's desire

More than you ever know