reading: that cat

children's rhymse ii

that cat she wanted to go for a sail

to feel the crisp wind

to spin a great tale

and so she stitched

bits of leaf with her whiskers

and bound many sticks

with the help of her sisters

'til her craft was done:

cat-sized, quite small,

but sturdy, and tipsy,

then steady in squalls.

ii: the Whale

and so when the cat

was well out from land

she saw a fine beach

green trees

golden sand

so beaching her boat

she stepped on the shore:

and of cat, boat, and island

nowt was heard more.

iii: Riches: The Return:

'til later

much later

after spit-up and gale

our cat washed ashore

all glued up

and blue.

But when her five sisters

undid all her wrack

they found 'twas ambergris

and now they're quite rich.

Meow.

2009 Peter Greene.

reading: red leather den talk

red leather den talk

i'd rather be sexless

      than an old husk masturbating ; i prefer empty

    to   half or less full of turgid water - i suspect

       this   is the edge  of the prefectures of death: I

  protest  only occasionally

                           the way that food , no longer desirable

  will not settle in me -the fact

                that the glow of the wine is almost outrun

  right away

             by the heat and pressure of the sugar-fed bacteria

   in the cracks in my sinus - minus

       the minute , i pass things over to you , time

  to sip red wine, and wait and smoke and die.

2010 Peter Greene.

reading: new york buried in crushed snow

                    new york buried in crushed snow

       snow gets dirty so fast

        someone is coughing

                 in the next room

    interrupting this poem.

        Snow is falling outside - and already

in my previous crumping footsteps

        shows - a certain pattern 

                   of spots of brown - shit,

    i've trodden on it,

                    borne upon my airy clouds

 that to me seem hard slow and compressible_but

         to the inhabitants below, an endless crystal dream

 imagine if our sky

                   was suddenly covered , the planet encased

      like a Christmas ball turning the lights

             of the solar system all prism

          as it hung , glorious.

               Imagine if someone stepped on it! New York,

                            buried in crushed snow.

Peter Greene 2010.