Skin Deep

I drink Sambuca and Southern Comfort

And wonder why I’m drunk

My fortune cookie tells me I can

Make diamonds out of cola

Even though my emotions are

All skin deep,

And I look up; and see stars
in a sky so cloudy
I wonder if I’m going blind again

Love crazed at the thought of you

Diamonds in my imaginary sky

My fortune cooks telling me

I’m destined for fortune

Even as I take another sip

Of which ever bottle I have

Anything left in to drink from

Not yet drunk enough to

Deal with the emotions

My fortune cook tells me

Are only skin deep,

when I know better,

feeling each all the way

down to the root of me

no matter how much

I drink.

That silly speck of dust

If only you could see it

This speck of dust: love

I eek out with pen and paper

Hardly the stuff of Shakespeare’s ink

Running line after line in eloquent rime

There are  no rimes in mine

Only dust and desire

a finger drawn “I love you”

on a direct card windshield.

Secret messages

That even you don’t know

I have no courage to tell you

Or to sneak them out of my room

To slip under your door

A greeting card would do better

Impersonal, the knowledge that

A millions other eyes

Translate those lines

In the same exact way,

“I love you – you – YOU – YOU,”

How foolish a sound that makes

In my lonely room

Snapping back at me

From four blank walls

“I love you – you – YOU – YOU,”

As if you might hear it through the wall

And understand that it is more

Than dust seeping down

Out of the cracks.

Hidden glen

 It’s like a scene from a tourist’s post card

A pond, a field, grass blowing hard

A line of trees that curves so wide

As to make this place seem like country side

A huge oak sits on top of a hill

And geese gorge fish until they’re filled

Near at hand traffic buzzes

Trucks bang and beeping cars and busses

Billboards decorate the highway sides

Power jets rip across a bright blue sky

No one but a handful note this place

Joggers hardly even slacken their pace

They follow black asphalt paths

Sneakers pounding out the latest fads

As a few poor fools still try to stroll

On linger upon some grassy knoll

Lovers walk here hand in hand

Or slowly ease down to the edge of sand

As gulls swerve above and cry

Or stirred by noise start to fly

I walk this place out of my youth
A tongue in  searche for a missing tooth

Aching again for what once was

And know that much has turned to dust

Meaning in the leaves

Fall comes with a stiff breeze

Swooping across the lawn

Of this remote park,

Blowing dry leaves

Around my ankles

As I walk

The asphalt path

Wind scattering these

Leaves again

And again,

A confusion of feelings

Remixed into new

Configurations

I cannot always

Sort out,

New meanings

Too much of a chore

To figure out,

Only to find

No meaning in them

But what meaning

I brought,

Me, hoping some spirit

Will inspire me

And give meaning

To what has no meaning

Feeling to what

I desperately need

To feel

Fall falling over me

With each step

I take.

The irritation of oysters

We ate oysters

Each time we met
and I could think of little

except for pearls,

The glitter in your eyes

And how a small irritation

Forces an oyster

To defend itself

Spinning until he makes

Smooth the grain

That causes him such injury,

And keeps him spinning

Even after the pearl is made

because he can’t

Spit it out,

He keeps spinning

The gem growing larger

and more painful

over time,

Until someone

With a knife

Cuts it out

We watched the necklace break

A cheap set of potato pearls

Unknotted so that each gem

Scattered across the cobble stones

At our feet

Seeking cracks or drains

From which we could not

recover them all

leaving a lost treasure

For the sweeper to find,

A smooth piece of beauty

Glittering among candy wrappers

And cigarette butts

No irritation now

But a glittering stone

So smooth between his fingers

so delightful to touch,

So precious he might

Never give it up.

Al Sullivan's Website

Willow

(from Slow Drowning in a Fast River)

I see her slender fingers touch

The surface of the river face

Gold reflected in brown mush

Leaved arms as fine as lace

She is the only permanent resident here

A dancer I have seen always

Hiding in her slender arms the silent deer

From drunken hunting crazed

I always thought of her as alone

A woman morning a lost lover

Or a guilt-ridden soul to atone

From a hurt she cannot recover

Crazy kids still run through sweeping arms

The way I did when I was their age

Her touch could never cause them harm

Yet somehow modifies their rage

And me returning to this water side

Feel against as I once did

Running under her arms to hide

Just as I did when I was a kid

Her kiss, my first kiss, always cherish

Her touch, my last touch, to which I perish.

Al Sullivan's webpage

Scars on the outside

All these years later

I still have the scars

On my knees

From that 7th birthday

When I had guilted

My uncles into buying
me the bicycle

I had wanted since 3,

Telling them I ought

To have it because

My mother was in the hospital

And although they knew

I was not old enough

To balance on that world

They bought it anyway

And I being too small to

Quite reach the pedals

Could not stop when
I reached that rough

Patch of asphalt

And fell

Scraping my knee

So bad I had bandages

On it for weeks

And band aids

For weeks after that

Yelping out in pain

When my aunt finally

Yanked the last one off

I couldn’t believe

How much it still hurt

And how much less

I loved that bicycle

Like all dreams that

Come too soon

And are gotten

Too easily.

Coyote and the rattle snake

Vagabond, prankster, warrior

Seducer, even fool,

Coyote never takes anything for granted

Never trusting the rattle snake

Even when inviting the slithering creature

Into his house to eat

First making an offering of food

Fit for coyote not snake,

Then giving the snake bits of grain

On the top of its nose

The snake rattling its tail at the other end

the whole time

Making the always wary Coyote nervous

While beckoning the Coyote closer,

Saying, "I don’t bite,”

when  Coyote knows he does,

the tip of the snake’s tongue

slipping out between his fangs,

too-ruthless for Coyote to ever

completely trust

even by someone as elusive

as Coyotes always are,

clever and illusive

but rarely ruthless,

knowing that outside in this world

there are beasts even more ruthless

that this pathetic snake could ever be,

beasts that care nothing about

fang, tongue or rattling tail

that would snap a snake’s head off

if it ever tried to bite,

or break the back of a coyote

who ceased being wary or wise

enough to think he’s bigger than they are

when he’s not.

Columbus Day

The ride between

Here and there is neither

Long nor short

But a matter of time

A life time perhaps

With Winter/Summer

Spring/Fall

Crowded on the sides

Like observers to

A great parade

Floats drifting

Bands blaring

Soldiers stomping by

In an invasion of elation

Some secret self

Takes to heart

Wishing for other things

Thinking of other places

Full of trees and leaves

And rushing streams

Thought lost to the blaring

Of music off the face

Of stone buildings,

All filled with echoes

Of the past

Some remote dream road

That appears on no map

And we all just stumble along

With no real notion

Of where we are,
where we are going

How to get back

Or if we even want to

This parade

Going on and on

And eventually even

Without us.

Cheating

“Why,” the old nun asked us

with both gray brows raised,

“do you need to cheat?”

We’d heard this lesson

Before so often
we could have

Given it to her,

How bright we were

And talented, and how

With a little work

We could achieve all

That we wanted

And have pride

In doing it

Dave and I

Only grinned at each other

Nodded, but said nothing,

Knowing the old nun

Would never get it,

How Dave knew

He was a whiz at math

And me, a whiz at words

But what we always

Really wanted,

What we really worked

So hard to achieve

Was being good

At cheating,

and we took

great pride

in that.

Dolphins

1

If you stand long enough

And believe hard enough

They always come,

Rising and falling

As their hungry mouths feed,

I never see the fish,

Only the consumption,

Feeling each wave

Roll over the surface

Of the world,

My fins like their fins

Stretched out

Into the cool wind

Feeling for something real

Beyond myself,

Or perhaps deep inside

A knowing that after

All is said and done

I have landed where

I ought to have,

And kept faith

With these gods

I praise

2

This year I walk the promenade

and search hard the sea rim

needing them to come back into my life

as reward for doing almost all I could

to keep faith with them.

Perhaps missing last year

Attracted all these evil spirits

That swarm around me now

Spiritually devoid insects

Full of distorted visions

Of right and wrong,

Buzzing only relieved

By this wind off the sea

Where I once again

Can see clearly,

And ache for these angels

With fins

To rise up from their feeding

And feed me

3

The gulls that face the wind

Do not see the fins

Or hear the voices rising

Up from the sea

Only I do,

Even passers-by

Do not look where I look

They only look at me

Thinking I am crazy

For believing in something

They do not believe,

Searching the landscape

For some force for good

I can cling to,

To help me carry on

To give me strength

When all the tides

Of the world have

Turned against me,

So when the fins appear

I know I am right

For being here,

For waiting for it,

For believing in it,

Even if others

Still do not see

4

They come the last day

Of a three-day stay

In Cape May

As if needing to make

Sure we are worthy enough

For us to see them or

For them to see us,

Their fins rising over

The phony fins

The gray waves create

Illusions we must not

Believe in,

False prophets

Promising love

In their pursuit of profits,

Those who cast confetti

Into the wind,

Hoping for a cash crop

They can reap later

While when the illusions fade

The real fins rise

From a real sea

Speaking of real love

Bright in a real light of day.

5

I rush up the beach path

And reach the lip

Just in time to see

The lifted fin vanish

Beneath a wave,

Then more appearing

Angels in the ripped

Surfaced of the sea,

A sea I’ve craved for

But now can’t dip a toe in

For the cold,

This place

This time of year,

Part of a ritual

I can’t live without,

A holy moment

When I can become whole

When I test myself against

The edges of truth

Like a store keeper

Tests the life of a battery,

And this year,

I still stand on the right side

Still testing positive

And still can face myself

In the brisk unrelenting

Blow of the ocean wind.

6

I watch the dolphins dance

As I write in the wet sand

The perpetual waves erasing

Each word before it is done

Taking these out into the sea

As prayers to some hopeful god

So that in the end

I remain still standing

As all words wash away

Taking away the deceptive reflections

Wet sand always brings

The mirrored self-centeredness

The illusions of righteousness

The fallacy of personal ambition

Cast down like false gods

Leaving only the echo

Of the laughing gulls

As they sweep the sky

Above in their mockery

Al Sullivan's webpage

Telegram to no purpose

I keep wanting to send

The same telegram

Again and again

“All you have to do is stop”

stop

“stop stamping on people”

stop

“on the way to the top,”

stop

“thinking it’s a”

Stop

“dog eat dog world”

stop

“when it’s not,”

stop

“No one is on top”

stop

“Every where they go,”

stop

“and never long”

stop

“when they claw their way”

stop

“to get there”

stop.

But something always stops me

From sending it.

right turn on red

You spin the wheel
round and round
and always go in circles
You must be on
the right road
otherwise you would stop
but you keep spnning
telling yourself
that you'll get there
eventually
that fate
or the almighty
are guiding you
and still you
go round and round
until you run
out of gas,
always right
even when
you aren't.