Aristophanes Didn't Fly The Friendly Skies

What is all this fuss, that flying is a must
like an Eagle in the sky,
I can only ask, why?

an airfoil is good if functions like it should
but what if it springs a leak?
You'll sink to miserable streets.

Blame it on the speech of a once illustrious Greek
who said cloud life is better,
but knew nothing of jet setters

or how one gets unraveled when on airlines one travels.
The word "Coach" he never heard
'cause if he did, he'd think twice about
flying like a bird.

Like a River

After Roberta died,
I talked to Paul,
at 80

playing tennis
like a fit
45 year old,
loving life with his
new girlfriend,
gliding
through streets
in shiny, black
limousines,
happier than Dad
could ever
be.
Paul lived
the Dream,
while Dad
tumbled drunk
into sunset,
sad,
morose,
broken.
Once,
Dad had it all -
laughter,
love,
Straight-A
student.

Why couldn't
he deal
with the ideal
accepted
like a Disney
dream?
Paul asked this,
but what destroyed
Dad
was like asking,
who killed Jesus?
I know, but I don't,
and neither did
Paul,
old family friend
from their days
of dreaming,
our conversation flowed
serpentine,
river 'round oxbow,
gradually

becoming
the sea.

My Father's Face

It was sky
but shattered 
into a million
pieces,
was twirled by
the wind
across the plains.
I waited
for days
and nights,
but it
never came
back.
I can wait
no more.
All that I have
is sky.

The Tendril

feels
emptiness,
extends
a green filament
to parts unknown,
does not discriminate
whether alive
or inanimate,
imparts a touch
without expectation
or thought.
Could this this really
be love
or just
Manifest Destiny?

When I was 25

The world was too big
and I didn't know what to do
so I burrowed way down low
inside love
like a naked Mole Rat,
crazed, frenzied,
demented
and blind.
I was a boy, really,
told so
by a woman,
on the phone,
she needed
a man
with money,
" 'cause romance
don't pay
no bills."
Addicted bitch,
but not too high,
wise, even, perhaps,
knowing her own
coked out mind,
spared me,
the stupid kid,
down the road,
my death
when she rejected
my gift-wrapped
bleeding heart.

Tim and I went walking

in late afternoon
along that street,
we watched the sun,
an old hiker
sink homeward
behind trees,
and we,
on the verge
of possibility
and mystery,
marched through
yards where hedges
glowed sci-fi yellow.

We zoned in on
the road,
searched
for a slip-stream
of brunette,
blonde,
or red-headed
hair
undulating
like a flaming
match head.
We could have cared
less
which shade of want,
a scenario
blazed through
our minds:

Car passes,
head turns,
inviting eyes,
bright smile.
Fifty yards up,
it decelerates
to a dusty
stop. Now,
what do we do?

But there were no takers
on our way toward sunset,
only the neighbor wife.
"You guys need a ride?" she smiled.
Suddenly serious,
we shook our heads, no,
and she zoomed away,
probably pitying
two young buffoons
lost in Jasmine
like perfume-drunk bees.

Dusk met us
at the corner store.
We flopped on the steps,
drained of energy
like the sky losing color.
We became night,
humming in our own hives,
not exactly delighted nor defeated,
just two boys
waiting to chase
another day.

Daily Musings

Draped in shadows,
I disregarded the sun,
and remain a stranger...

Joe said,
he who wanders
the avenues
with no eyes
on Nirvana
is an owner-less
dog
on a leash...

In case
there is
no
here-after,
I regard the remark
but  rescind
the fine print...

If Immanuel can't,
who can?

I feel abandoned
like a house
left to the woods