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Thursday, July 31, 2008 an Open Door

Love is an open door

Loves door unlocked and ajar

Invites me ever out

Or in

To your room

Where I stretch across

Your bed


My open wound

Never to heal

No salve or dressing

To staunch that flow

Nothing to fill

This chasm

Love is an open door

High on a sheer face

Thrown open wide where

Transparent drapes

Flow out

Into the blue

Saturday, July 19, 2008

Life is just a...

Life Is Just A Dress Shop Window

Full of pretty colors

And delicate fabric

Inviting imagination

Arousing inspiration

On short summer

Nights of quiet


Full of stories of reflection

And heated promises

Broken before dawn

Desire described

In embroidery

Traced over

Breasts and buttocks

Marking the place

Of origin

Muted and serene

Festive and pious

Bangles and baubles

And all things

Beautiful, bountiful

Dark and mysterious

As women are wont

Aloof and untouchable

As that part of man’s heart

They haunt

Monday, July 14, 2008

I do not like Green Eggs and Ham

7/14/08 Crash and Burn

This familiar melancholy wraps its roots deeply around my heart pulsating with each beat; tightening in my chest until I can barely breathe. I play music to fuel this passion, this longing for my girl; even though she is right here, I miss her. I must always miss someone, a woman someone, a woman I cannot possess. She thinks she is mine, but she knows only the surface of things. In reality, my mood has little to do with her. I feel worse knowing I will bring her down. I feel failure. I feel it is somehow my fault that two individuals may not be inspector material. Is this not ridiculous? This must be the down side of pedagogy. Failure was not an option, not even considered. I thought: Well, I’ve done it, anyone can do it. I have sorely underestimated this entire thing. What am I doing? I question it all, everything now. I am in pain and I feel old. Feeling sorry for myself was something I had gotten over about ten years ago, when I started with the Department. I do not like this feeling. Not one bit.

Sunday, July 13, 2008

So long, Bobby Murcer...

7/13/08 Flying High

The weather has just turned glorious as if July and June transposed themselves without telling anyone. Still working like a dog and no time for us except we went to see Cher, Ty, and baby TJ in Branford and that was fun, got the Lenny/Rimage haircut too and saw Starry Night again. It had been awhile. There she sat in the Yale University Art Gallery. While Jen-Scott got color, I got teary eyed at the muted night of Van Gogh’s. We are planning a return visit before the exhibition ends in September. August promises to be vacation month. We are laying the ground work to escape down south for a week, ten days. All Star Game. Wow, where is the summer going. In honor of Yankee Stadium’s last season, I bought a hat and the Jason Giambi jersey. Bobby Murcer, I remember seeing him hitting a home run in Yankee stadium. I swear he tom-a-hawked the ball. And we all came to know and love him as the kind gentle broadcaster who never missed a beat. The universe certainly works in such mysterious ways. You know Murcer would never want to upstage the mid-summer classic, rememberances will flow this coming Tuesday. Bobby, we hardly knew ye.

Sunday, July 6, 2008

Let the World Take Note

7/6/08 The Pilot Program

Eight weeks ago, I announced the commencement of an Inspector Training Pilot Program with the department. Tomorrow marks the completion of those eight weeks, and though the program shows no signs of ending, I am taking the opportunity to note the accomplishment of many and the disappointment of some. When we began (Damon, Lloyd and I) were very gung-ho and excited. We are still as committed today as we were May 12th though we have encountered numerous obstacles to the achievement of our goals, namely to provide the very best atmosphere for quality training, and we have had to deal with our limitations of time, space and equipment. All in all, I am very proud of the way we have handled all of the day to day problems involved with an endeavor of this scope. We have been, in my opinion, fully utilized. I have averaged 72.25 hours a week for the past month of June, a month in which I celebrated my 50th birthday. As I take stock this morning, I see how the concentration on my passions, namely poetry, song and theatre, have completely taken a back seat to the more practical and mundane office of training new inspectors. As ever, I am seeking balance. Rehearsals for Small Craft Warnings begin next month. I have about a hundred and fifty headshots waiting to be sent out and need to think about ordering more. The banjo and the guitar both gather dust. I cannot tell you what’s in our ice box. To decompress over the last 8 weeks we’ve taken in the new Indian Jones flick (Nuke the fridge!), and a reading of a new play by an exciting unknown playwright Joe Musso: Blood Water about Post Katrina New Orleans. To say the least the last eight weeks have been often demanding and even grueling at times. I feel exhausted, elated and frustrated. Last night we took in Neil Labute’s latest offering: reasons to be pretty. It was good to be in a theater again watching interesting work. I miss all my friends with whom we spent far too little time on my birthday. I miss long summer days with nothing to do but go to the gym and learn a new play. My candle burns now at both ends and in the middle but it's all for the cause: Independence?