That tough lady on TV
the one with the bank of phones,
reminds me of my wife,
always busting
crooks and hustlers,
with her firm grip
and smolder.
She puts the foxy in moxie.
With her you’re glad to be caught,
and you’d almost pay to be punished
for being bad.
Japanese print
The crossover dribble of Allen Iverson
How does it happen
that the one man
has left and is flying
while you, my friend,
stand gaping
in a cold Philly wind?
Now having pricked the full-blown self
I sing my way loose.
I’m one with the air
and laugh
at the deflated plastic pile.
A poor man had eyes to see
the riches he kept for himself
An odd and savage diminishment
From flesh and dreams
to the scratching short of death.
Our weather today
In the days of the melancholy giants
One-Eye stubbed his toe
and it took everything he could muster
to avert the flow
and save the town from his tears.
What weight
is borne
by the shadow of our flight?
I know not,
but I know this:
the lower we went,
the closer we came,
and we crashed
when we hit the ground.
Utrecht Journal 