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🌅🌍🌔  🌅🌍🌕  🌅🌍🌖                                                                                                                                   
🌅🌍🌗  🌅🌍🌘  🌅🌍🌙                                                                                                                                   
🌅🌍🌚  🌅🌎🌑  🌅🌎🌒                                                                                                                                   
🌅🌎🌓  🌅🌎🌔  🌅🌎🌕                                                                                                                                   
🌅🌎🌖  🌅🌎🌗  🌅🌎🌘                                                                                                                                   
🌅🌎🌙  🌅🌎🌚  🌅🌏🌑                                                                                                                                   
🌅🌏🌒  🌅🌏🌓  🌅🌏🌔                                                                                                                                   
🌅🌏🌕  🌅🌏🌖  🌅🌏🌗                                                                                                                                   
🌅🌏🌘  🌅🌏🌙  🌅🌏🌚

Death will come as twins and they'll be
wearing stunning oversized boho
like they're in hiding
on the streets of Manhattan and
again, they will have your eyes.
They give them back to you.
"you're going to need these later."

Death escapes. someone else stepping out.
Club scene.
Winter sky.
"Manhattan is a jungle" (who said this?)
a blistery wind.
Suddenly it's the twins and
they are not death
but life, it self.
you do not violate their privacy.
They are also dressed in stunning oversized boho
of their own design
and seem to understand
that you know who they are
but choose to leave them alone.








"Death will come and he will  have your eyes"
but you're gonna kinda need your eyes.
So death will tell you 'here you are' and give them back to you and
you'll be able to see again.

My friends call me Deathy, but
you always knew you were a dead man and
you are my friend and I see it that you'd find
no escape from here,
come to my Bardo, it's
like a two week vacation in Vermont
that lasts forever if never at all.
Breathe in breathe out
Do you want to know what real health feels like?
Then don't dwell on the pain.
Deathy had a toothy grin then, showing me
his molars, that
he has no skin
below the hood, if he wants to,
orr
he could just look like some lean
coke head driving that old
Plum purple hot rod 1963 pontiac with the better
suspension, the
better carboration, that faster rod
if you needed to go that fast
or suitable for funerals
Yours.

Tuesday in Scituate
the guys playing dodge ball
some clowny guy whose always smiling
they say he's a narc but you just see him as a sweet lover
Careful what you say in public while bowling.
Dude was never one for keeping secrets you can't tell him anything.
It's it's Saturday she's here praying for her friend.
He's praying for her that what ever she gets diagnosed she'll get cured right away.
He knows she loves but that she makes too much of it,
ruins the cake
by leaving it outside
in the rain
on a Thursday
they take the trash on tuesdays, that
cake will be there all weekend.
She's a girl, he
said she was they
brought their baby to the church and left it for the pastor.
DSS wanted to know but no one would tell them.
Someone going back to Shelburne Falls might not know the whole story.
They wouldn't know that this weepy woman, elegant if she weren't always drinking,
feels real pain it's not an act even though she's always drunk.
She may be drunk but it's real pain anyway.
Doesn't any one know what she's going through?
If she met her son what would she say to him anyway?
What's another drink ever going to do?

He tells her not to drive off for a while.
Sit down here, there's a guy in a blue car that will want to pull you over
if you don't wait until your sober.

It'll be twilight
the light
lower the
trees now too dark
to say it's 'green'
except you know it's green.
Just call it 'deep forest'
when deep in the forest sitting on a bench in the late day before the rain
the wind kicks up leaves from last fall just blowing along the dirt roads.
The sound of motor muscle winding down, shifting to slow, instead of breaks
that wobbing sound.
It's a tripped up
396 SS deepest saphire blue like the well that were his eyes
and death 
has
those eyes.

If you're only seeing eyes
and you're not getting the throb 
of Detroit muscle, the
pulse
of too much power
energy never created
never destroyed
but death
has a way to put it all in one place
at one time
at the pavement 
or the dirt
in the woods (the forest)
or on the highway
death concentrating that energy as
power along the byway
dirt road,
horses tastefully corralled in an antique pasture
surrounded by antique walls
that those horses,
if they really wanted to
could leap right over
come on, let's get going
rush off, rush off to no where
till the end of time, never created nor destroyed by man.

death does a how-da-ya-do through the back of the parking lot
making sure to chirp the tires and let eveyrone know
he's here, come
to take a passenger
"you had to have the 454 SS with the cowl injection." they seem to say.
you life less body.
the cold of a week day
even when it's eighty degrees 
and the birds are calling loud with that mornful
way.

Death lets you see everyone, drives by them one more time he
could rewind it all, ghost of bad future if he wants to be,
if you didn't get Mr. Dicken's message, the story
of the condemnation of you
for being such a weaselly punk,
hurting everyone
disrespecting people's grand mothers
in front of the whole crowd and
being a very brutal false kind of whatever you were pretending to be,
saying that you were, but you weren't
caught in a lie 

death will come
and he'll be driving
a 67 Malibu 396 SS
the color of mid afternoon sky,
not a turquoise
not a sky blue,
some kind of metallic other blues
like the eyes
of someone you once knew
and death
will have those eyes

And youll hear that wobbing sound
of the revving up motor as he 
drops the gear down
kicks up the dirt
get's those 
four stallions
those four horses,
without their riders,
galloping along
the edge of the stone wall
trying to see,
trying to follow along
because
they know death, too,
he took them there.

And death
will have a book of Italian poems
written post war, Pavez,
death will come and he will have your poems.

He'll pull up along side
where you've been doing your bye-bye-baby-blue bit
all mugallbee-d out,
boyfriend danced off with a sluttier girl
is the mean thing that people thought,
she thinks,
sitting there
waiting for him.
She looks up.
It's death
and those eyes . . . 
and the poems that he'll read to you while you're sitting in the room later
light burning low
church and steeple, aspen, glow.
death will come and he will know your story.

 "Death will come and he will have your eyes" is a quote from Pavez, the Italian poet from last century.