Gay on the Bay by Floyd Shadmoor

The day after the storm pillows of clouds rolled out over the bay. Passing overhead they looked like a seagull’s chest; convex and sparkling white after a good dumpster meal, and as the clouds pushed east towards Europe, hovering over the thin crust of Connecticut on the horizon, they transformed into something even grander; giant breasts of whipped cream full to the nipple with milk, begging for release. A beautiful spring day to be sure…

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If you’ve heard the story before, you may think it is about greed—a woman’s golden arm is stolen by her husband, or maybe graverobbers. The idea is to forever tie together the twin sins of greed and fear in children’s minds (at least in the minds of some children—others have clearly never been told the tale).

                                                for M.D.

what you said yesterday    came to me today    right after
what is this closet tangle of stuff? and how to unspool it?

All Things Delight the Maker

Against the screen of halogen light
extremities beset by photons tingle.
All things delight the maker, all night
we sync the humming to the quaver
of unseen life behind the unseen ring.

THE PRINCE’S TUXEDO

The prince was first to see it. “It’s coming,” he cried repeatedly, “It’s on the horizon.” At first, too few could hear him, but soon thousands listened. The crowd lifted him onto their shoulders allowing his words to travel further. “A grave danger approaches!” he cried.

trenchmouth pastoral

the earth is a widow (her teeth are limestone)
buried twice.
                  she bites down.
cracks open the splintered husk of a bone —
                                 and inside,
                                  the bone is still screaming.

Apple Picking

The sign says Pick-Ur-Own. An arrow points down the road. I remain noncommittal, even when a man lifts his little daughter up to pluck a fat red apple off a branch. I’m there only because a person has to be somewhere. My heart is disfigured beyond fixing, a consequence possibly of microplastics, heredity, alcohol, or schooling. The man and his daughter walk away hand in hand down a wide grassy aisle between two long rows of trees. You have to step carefully, though, or you can trip over the apples scattered on the ground, some with disappointing bites taken out of them.

     ◦   wild horses have a grudge

they grind it out
put bone to bone
tap out confessions
wake me up to hear it all

American Music Festival - New York City Ballet
               – After American Music Festival - New York City Ballet by Keith Haring

If we’re going to keep dancing of course we need
stars, stripes, red, white, blue, yellow, and you.
If the show must go on of course we request
music, flying splits and backflips.

Quite suddenly, nothing happened.
With all the force to be mustered, nothing happened.
Assured the condition was only temporary,
we were told to return to our houses,
to leave the lights off and get into our beds.
To tremble at powers far beyond our comprehension

For Once Do What

For once I chomp at the bit then go. Show the neighborhood I've failed to say hello. Pearl clouds wield a silo north of what I think. By the way, do you know the fingering on flute for C above middle C? There was no internet when I first pondered that and waited to be told. A parallel bold shock of white gold embosses what is not a belt buckle. Huckleberry tart gone lovely near impending waltz. I let me out of my cage to which I am the only key holder. Imaginary impediments make be sounder than the flea in the jar staying put and waiting for instructions from the moron not imaginary yet. I'm ready to pounce on the unblistered face of earth including me.

Who built this corridor lined with doors?
Closed.
Who raised these walls and set the frames?
Locked.
Why make a threshold if the door will always be shut?
Knock.

Not really the rain
Tapping it aloud
Like sparrows’ beaks
But all the stars
From the outer space
Splashing down

my mind is a finger dragged
across the underside of a forearm.
what bled has turned foul.

I was infatuated with someone and she
laughed in my face. I handed her a rose
bouquet. It might as well have been a glop
of sewage.

The reluctant end of a toothpaste
when I’m too tired to even sleep;
a pierced tea bag
when caffeine starvation tightly grabs;
the grin of a mischievous child