Downscale Bachelor

Moh's Scale of Hardness, the refractive index,
his ignorance of such terms sold him the ring.

In the diner she said, "No, no, please let go,"
withdrawing her hand, victorious retreat.

"Zirconia?" she whispered. "Swindler's rock.
"The trouble with you: What they say, you believe."

He said, "You're right, of course. I'm wrong, again."
She left. Soon, a familiar waitress arrived.

He spoke of mistakes while she admired the ring.
"Zirconia," she said as the cook's bell rang

   Blues for Allen Ginsberg

A women I know
reminds me of days
in which she claims
I looked like you.
But I had been a Burroughs' man
and believed without proof
that I resembled him;
I looked like you.
Now I'm older, by my count
forty two and by estimation
of the Internet fifty four; again,
I look like you.
Still, I lack the beard
and om voice rasp,
the suit and necktie clasp,
confessions that put
Saint Augustine to shame,
the words to capture
old-man pain.
And did I mention
I like your later work best?
Unlike the Rolling Stones
you made music
the age of your bones.
I listen to your blues.
I read your blues.
And when I die those blues
I will still look like you.