I Am Sitting

Looking at paintings by Purcell
one especially of a hanging
and it is the year of the DOG.

I am sitting, staring at a 4X8
photo of Bogart nursing his drink

in the middle of my bookcase
between a history of England and the diary
of John Evelyn.
He has been nursing that drink for two years
while my mother and father gaze
in a gold frame gave at Shou-hsing
god of longevity
carved from ivory.
Shou stares out at a red candle
on a coffee table
and a sign on the wall above that says
REMEMBER.

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Muse On My Staircase

not your regular water nymph
or white-robed rider of hippocampi
flitting through small
spaces, or Melpomene gripping
the open-mouthed mask head
trailing saliva no match
for the sweat that gathers
before the morning’s first drink

dripping from the jungle ends of his
hair and tearing down his forgetfulness
as again you ask it
what the hell
happened to you

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