I don’t wanna boast
but I’ve achieved my lifetime goal—almost.
I’ve done what I love most
from east to west and pole to pole out of control:
I ride roller coasters: 
every roller coaster.

From first world to third
they make life a joy
for me, a grown-up nerd
a too-big little boy
riding roller coasters:
every roller coaster.

	CHORUS:
	I’ve done the greats but not the best.
	I will before my final rest
	but I’m too fat so I’m forbidden
	to ride the one I haven’t ridden:
	Descent to Hell
	After your ears pop at the top
	the heart-stopping first drop,
	then the first white-knuckle grip
	the death-defying double-dip
	Descent to Hell

But now I got the colon cancer;
my wife is asking how I’ll spend my final year.
She could have guessed the easy answer:
my sole remaining wish is to complete my career:
descend to hell

	(CHORUS)

I don’t have much time to wait;
I finally gotta lose some weight
even if I must forsake
Chablis and steak and chocolate cake.

		BRIDGE:
		The months go by
		and slowly I’m
		approaching the limit from above.
		Is it enough?
		I’m getting buff.
		I’ve given up every food I love;
		the weight’s gone down
		but not enough,
		so though I’m getting weaker and my stomach aches
		I’m cutting out the water and protein shakes.
		The weight goes down.

I fly to Dubai, take a cab to the park, and barely make it there.
They’re weighing me in and subtracting my wheelchair—a pound to spare.
They’re lifting me in and they’re lowering the restraint.
I’m trying to stay alive another five—and not to faint.

	CODA CHORUS:
	I’ve ridden the greats but not the best.
	I will before my final rest
	now I no longer am forbidden
	to ride the one I haven’t ridden:
	Descent to Hell
	After your ears pop at the top
	the heart-stop—

	CHORUS:
	There’s a stink bug in my beer
	There’s a pimple on my rear
	1st: The solution is quite clear
	2nd: Probably gonna hit a deer (one of these days)
	3rd: and my truck’s stuck in third gear, but I
	gotta move away from here

Living in the wilds of Maryland
There’s a rainbow-snake convention here in my back yard BUT
finding genuine baguettes is not that hard AND
creative writing groups meet in my favorite bar AND
the Folger Shakespeare Library is not that far BUT

	(CHORUS)

Living in the wilds of Maryland
whose state house was the capital of our nation AND
where Amtrak always gets you to Penn Station AND
you got the Renwick Gallery in Washington AND
the Hirshhorn and the Phillips and Smithsonian BUT

		BRIDGE:
		Time’s a comin’
		to move away from here
		Time’s a comin’
		For me to disappear

Been living in the wilds of Maryland
a slave state whose motto is “The Free State” WHERE
taxes are way too high to tolerate WHERE 
people eat piles of crabs without a plate AND
don’t save enough room for Smith Island cake AND 
whose Chesapeake Bay is nothing more than weeds and mud AND
is always threatening Naptown with another flood AND
there’s too much colonial architecture AND
at St. John’s there’s always a Plato lecture AND

	(CHORUS)

The cathedral at Pisa
is a beautiful building
but nobody notices. 
Its baptistery is beautiful too, 
but nobody notices. 

The baptistery illustrates the transition from Romanesque to Gothic,
but nobody notices. 
The campanile is pure Romanesque,
but nobody notices. 
 
Nobody notices 
the cathedral 
and baptistery, and
nobody notices 
the beauty of the campanile because,
in addition to being beautiful,
it leans;
Everyone notices it leans.

Its architect—was a genius.
The contractor—was a moron.
The tourists are morons.
The engineers—who halted the lean—but did not fix the lean—morons.

If I were Earth's Emperor I would—correct—it.
the lean

Don’t tell me we can’t afford it;
we can afford hundred-million-dollar Super Hornets
and multi-billion dollar submarines,
and hundred-million dollar loft apartments
one thousand feet above Central Park with solid marble tubs.
(As emperor I’ll have two.)

Don’t tell me it’s impractical—
Don’t tell me it’s impossible—
what fourteenth-century men have built
twenty-first-century men can fix.

If nothing else,
we’ll take it apart 
stone-by-stone,
numbering every one,
storing the numbers in a big spreadsheet.

We’ll reshape or replace the stones,
using computer-aided design software,
or not,
and reconstruct 
the tower 
so 
it doesn’t 
lean.

Then someone 
other than the emperor
might notice the beauty,
the gracefulness of proportion,
the delicacy of form, 
the harmonies in the colors, 

and not just
take moronic photos 
of morons 
“holding it up.”    

When I bought it
this car was covered with chromium
Back when I bought it
this car was covered with chromium
but this beautiful bright shiny car got rusty
and drove me deep down to the doldriums

	CHORUS:

	I got a ledge to my left
	solid rock to my right
	a chasm ahead
	and pride behind

	I got the dead-end blues	
	I got the dead-end blues	
	I got the flat-tire, battery drained out of gas cul-de-sac blues

I’m gonna floor it
and drive it straight off of this precipice	
I’m gonna floor it
and drive it straight off of this precipice
Either that or I’ll just sit here vibrating
my engine block knocking converting my catalyst
I’m an auto-masochist

	(CHORUS)

	I got the flat-tire, battery drained cul-de-sac out of gas dead-end blues
oh yeah

	CHORUS:

	People are the worst
	If I believed in sorcery
	and evil dark conspiracies
	I would think they’ve all been cursed
	People are the worst
	If space aliens really wanna
	Eat our planet’s flora and fauna
	They should eat the people first
	People are the worst

VERSE 1:
especially people who think their country is number one
especially those who think there’s nothing wittier than a pun
especially every good old white boy racist with a gun
especially every dad reliving childhood through his son

	(CHORUS)

		BRIDGE:
		they say things like “I’m li-te-ral-ly dying of thirst”
		they show up for important concerts unrehearsed
		you’d swear they must have been coerced by malevolent adults
		or spent their early lives immersed in con man cults

VERSE 2: 
especially people who deny that math is fun
especially those who don’t know real life has begun
especially people who think they’re a bigger Beatles fan
especially people who think there is nothing cuter than a nun
a nun on a teeter-totter beaming
a nun on a roller coaster screaming
a nun winning at parish croquet
a nun teaching children to pray and obey

	People are the worst

	he was a teen idol
	he was number one 
	seven times
	another teen idol
	whose long hair scared parents
	when he was done singing
	and they were done screaming
	his diehard fans
	went suicidal

all that was half a century ago
I am surprised it even made the news
but if you’ve heard and really need to know:   
he died of Beatles, bitterness and booze

	he was a teen idol
	he was number one 
	seven times
	another teen idol
	whose tight jeans scared preachers
	when he was done singing
	and they were done screaming
	his diehard fans
	went suicidal

his fans grew up or went to war
they don’t play eight-tracks, cassettes, or records anymore
the service is for friends and family only
though he was twice-divorced, childless, and lonely

	he was a teen idol
	he was number one 
	seven times
	another teen idol
	whose grammar scared teachers 
	after his last movie
	after his failed comeback
	his diehard fans
	went suicidal

just like a teen idol

She moved
into her former fiancé’s
fourth-floor efficiency
in Brooklyn.

She and Robert moved,
just before the baby,
to a two-bedroom
in Queens,
closer to his job.
river view
more or less

She and Robert and the baby moved
into a little house
in Valley Stream.
good schools
parks

She and Robert and the children moved
to a six-bedroom Colonial
in New Canaan, Connecticut.
granite counters
French doors
no wires strung above the street
She never thought she’d live so nice.

She and Robert moved
to a luxury condo 
in Naples, Florida.
ocean view
palm trees!
no steps
no snow

She moved
to Maryland
to be near the kids.

She moved
to a new retirement community
so as not to be
a burden on her son.
free wi-fi
shuttle bus to doctors
private veranda
It’s more than she needs, really.

night lights 
stars 
night lights 
semis, cars 
night lights 
red and green flashing 
navigation lights 
night lights 
satellites 

night lights 
radio tower 
don't crash into me 
night lights 
open twenty-four hours 
EAT! 

street lights 
don't mug me please 
strobe lights
"This is the police— 
freeze!" 
blacked out balcony 
naked you and me 
candle flickering 
neighbor snickering 
Peeping Tom 
come on down 
help us wish upon some 

night lights 

tired eyes 
staring up all night 
night lights fade away 
sunrise 
everything bleached white 
every boring day 

Who’d we lose this year?
Assorted celebrities.

Who’d we lose this month?
A Naval Academy classmate.

Who’d we lose this week?
A no-mask politician.

Who’d we lose this week?
Our cleaning lady’s best friend.

Who’d we lose this week?
Our Cancun concierge’s tia,
our Cancun concierge’s tio,
our Cancun concierge’s madre.

Who’d we lose today?
My fellow poet’s stepson.

Honey, honey
Honeymoon

He cheats
She finds
receipts

She washes clothes
She changes sheets
She knows

He’s no Boy Scout;
when it comes to lies,
he’s first string.
When she finds out
he denies
everything. 

She says she’ll leave.
He fights her,
then
gaslights her,
then
calls her naïve.
He blames her.
He says he’s sick of their games,
then finally
admits it all,
commits 
to the long-haul.

He cries.
She cries.
They both apologize.

She gets over it,
takes him back,
thinks their lives are on
the right track.
Again.
She convinces herself that
it’s not him,
it’s all men.

Honey, honey
A second honeymoon

He cheats…(repeat entire song) 
Maybe it’s time 
to ask Father Joe
But what does he know 
about real people’s lives
How could he know 
about husbands and wives

Maybe Dear Abby in the Post
She’s almost always right
‘bout when to run 
‘bout when to fight

Whether it’s in-laws and brides
Whether it’s parents with cancer
Whether it’s how long to hide
She’s got the answer

Honey, honey
Another honeymoon

World War I never ended.
	In the red zones:
	“Complètement dévastée” 
	(Completely devastated)
	It’ll still kill.

The map shows an archipelago of red,
areas pockmarked 
with unexploded bombs,
unfit to farm,
becoming “war forests.”
An area the size of Paris 
still off limits.

Bones continue to turn up. 

You can’t eat the mushrooms.
You can’t drink the water.
The wine has lead
from the barrels
from the wood 
from the trees.

	World War I never ended.
	In the yellow zones:
	“Zone de dommages importants” 
	(Significant damage)
	It’ll still kill.

The memorial near Verdun,
with its military museum,
honors both French and Germans impartially.
It could have been designed by Albert Speer
(I know, wrong war).

Lille’s memorial depicts 
resistance leaders being executed:
a shopkeeper, 
a salesman, 
a Belgian, 
a wine seller,
a student.

	World War I never ended.
	In the green zones:
	“Zone moindrement touchée” 
	(least touched)
	It’ll still kill.

In Amiens, eleven tablets 
in the south door 
of the cathedral
commemorate the dead 
from the British Empire 
and its dominions:
The United Kingdom of Great Britain 
and Ireland (Protestant and Catholic),
England, Scotland, Wales,
India, South Africa, Australia, New Zealand, Newfoundland.

	World War I never ended.
	In the blue zones:
	“Zone sans dommages”
	(Damage-free zones)
	It’ll still kill.

I got bills to pay
I got games to play 
got a life to lead
and two wives to feed
I got tickets—to some ballet

I got vows to break
I got deals to make
you will find my name
in the hall of fame
of pure profit—without shame

    I can’t care
    I don’t dare
    though I got much more than my share
    I still don’t have a dime to spare

do not criticize
you who empathize
go to church and sing
but don’t do a thing
just swallow—the big lies

    life’s unfair
    justice rare
    I can’t care
    I don’t dare
    though I got much more than my share
    I still don’t have a dime to spare

    saving whales and baby seals
    raising funds for meals on wheels
    historic preservation
    wetland conservation
    every new disease
    endangered birds and trees
    archaeological treasures in peril
    feral cats who should be sterile

so just hope and pray
it’ll go away
it’ll be all right
at least out of sight
while I play—solitaire—I can’t care

Make a thousand
Sell a hundred
Give a bunch away
Gotta wonder why

Make a thousand
Sell a hundred
Drag the rest around
for the rest of my
   days
   years
   decades
   days
   years
   decades

   Boxes
   Boxes
   Boxes
Boxes of
   CDs
   CDs
   CDs
Hundreds of
   CDs
   CDs
   CDs
Obsolete
   CDs
   CDs
   no one
wants
Corky Siegel’s style
is iconic a
revolution in
blues harmonica

and the man can teach
how to play a song
40 years ago
I took his class
just as my 
struggling career
making music was
at an impasse

I will not forget
Corky’s solid advice
to me:
Write a bunch of songs
then record a real nice
CD and you’ll

Make a thousand
Sell a hundred
Never compromise
Keep the music pure

Make a thousand
Sell a hundred
Drag the rest around
For the rest of your
   days
   years
   decades
   days
   years
   decades
Drag the rest around

from the closet
to the basement
from the basement
to the closet

of the new house
from the old house
to the Happy Sunrise Community

Toss the LPs
anything old
Toss the boxes
if they get mold

Toss the school books
every gym shoe
Toss the boxes 
filled with mouse doo

Every time you move
to a smaller place
gotta make some space
   just in case

The union of everything is everything
The union of nothing is nothing    
The intersection of everything is nothing
The intersection of nothing is everything

Another matrix, two-by-two
might be false, might be true
what it means is up to you
to figure out now or misconstrue

Look at it this way:
it’s like multiplication.
To multiply a bunch of numbers,
start with one,
(not one of the numbers, the actual number one),
then multiply
what you’ve got so far
by each of the numbers in turn,
one by one,
one at a time.
When you’ve got no numbers left
you’re done.
If you had no numbers
to begin with,
you’re done— 
and the answer
is still—one.

Similarly,
To find the intersection of a bunch of sets,
start with the universe,
take each set in turn,
and find its intersection with
what you’ve got so far.
Just as the sum of nothing is zero,
just as the product of nothing is one,
if you had no sets to begin with,
you’re left with—the universe.
The intersection of nothing is everything.