Saturday, July 04, 2015


I remember the dangers of angel hair.
                                  —Joe Brainard            

I just sat there,
all day, watching
another hair go gray.

“Can you push the
ancient,” says the man 
who is perpetually

young.  At the very
moment, I receive
an invitation

to witness “1000
this Saturday.  To

dance among
jockstraps gives
me a twinge

that is neither
overly mature
nor nostalgic.

“Why bother
with angels,” says
the youth of a man

who claims to have
clung to my life
for years,

trapped in a
soulless heart—
or a heartless

soul—that was
once and always
my very own.