JOSEPH'S CORNELL'S BOXES

In a sound proof studio
leaving off my race bike
in my first ride
waiting by the bus stop
for runaways
thinking of Arthur Miller's
"All My Sons" and how
I met his wife Marilyn
having Java with sugar
at a Broadway cafe
now murdering a Vienna roll
for a New York minute
lacking an umbrella
with raindrops falling
playing sax in the background
as I dog walk for a hairdresser
with her miniature French poodle
now sounding my sax by the MBTA
and sighting in a studio basement
a lost and found painting
of Chardin
stolen by the Nazis
I meet up with the boxes
of Joseph Cornell
opened at the ready-
my adolescence padlocked
by Hollywood stunt men
at my uncle's publicity jobs
who is a caretaker of my dreams
I am Job twice over
trying to thank God for life
having been saved on a ski lift
months ago in the Vermont snow
watching the summer skyline
erasing my motor scooter's map
calling up mom and dad
near Andy's Factory
as the midnight alarm clock
as a bomb went off
by a store ranch
selling Texas rabbit fur
wanting to take pictures
with Peter Pan
a young fashion model
and his sister Jennifer
with Cleopatra's skin
who asks me to be her partner
on Captain Hook's cat walk's
runway plank
now hearing of assassinations
of American politicians
cornered by sensational
national headlines
of conspiracy theories,
I take down a snapshot
of Ted Williams
off to Korea.