the dreams of the exhausted


by the river-bank I’ll
have a drink or two as it all wraps up
one last shot
at the final last call
before I crawl back up the stairs
and rest my shoulders upon the
thin clear clouds so close to the lord
that burn with the fire of the sun
and chill with their ice
that sails the winds which lead me home
in snow and light
to the sound of a single cello




        it took me almost a month three weeks
        before I saw this peculiar blue light quite weak
        that hovers near my fingers as I type

(off to the left)

        and it reminded me of
        snowflakes aloft under streetlights
        and kitten-tracks
                                the sidewalk
        smoothed flat my four-year-old snow boots –
        how seductive the new dark evening smelled!
        and oh how the sound it made played in my ears
        like nothing

        like the faint glow of muted sky
        that I would have missed
        if things weren’t so dark ‘round here

these days


perhaps at the mercy of something else


a diagram in the schematic and the instructions
for its lubrication
are what she gave to me that night
when she bared her breasts
and showed me in the moonlight a world that sent
my mind to the gods so softly that hover over
this sick machine
that bleeps and squaks and squeals
like dry boxcar wheels
as the conductor slams the brakes when his body falls upon
the lever
a heart attack at forty-five, rose-red whiskey cheeks
and two little boys at home…

but much to my disappointment her
manual doesn’t apply anymore
at least not when her shirt’s back on
and she’s again run out the door
ode to lisa


silly girl, I know what you are
pulses of electricity and abstract niceties, the things
I’ll never have
because you’re nothing but everything that’s wanted
like the unwanted light in the corner, or a
cockroach in the cupboard
just slaveship vermin awaiting the next riot meal
so you can die dignified in the dark
for some lonely man’s
wet and salty fantasies
the poor, unknowing fish of the sea


it’s noteworthy and remarkable how a person
such as she could fill me with such a
creative blend of longing, fear, and hatred
but of my concerns the greatest is the wrath she
will exact on those unsuspecting of her
crisp acid smile and piercing atomic heart
for they’re the ones who know not the things I do
and have not the reservations I’ve constructed nor
the wildfire loathing that ensures my iron stance against her
when she tries again to capture my heart unsuspecting
that silly decision


a year later and the imminent chill of the dead days
is upon us again much like the call of our departed
whispers if only they could speak –
dry and
like the loomingnegativespace around the corner
the one born from expiration as the leaves stop whispering
and fall to the earth
before the snow follows suit and does the same,
copycat blanket of icy white not wholesome like the gold
of these final autumn days
and o! how I wish I could grasp the hands of my clock
and softly push back the days to April
but time won’t allow such an adjustment
so I’m sentenced to this different beauty before me
should I choose to see it
or a bleak empty waste
if I give in again


when the road is your home
there’s not much’ll hold you down,
side for the sleepless nights and endless liquor
drippin’ like backwater moonshine
keepin’ you up
goin’ round in your head
like a burnin’ rat goin’ round and about,
bout everything you’ve ever done wrong
or that you never done will
and as you wrestle with those sheets
you’re wishing you were back
to Travelin’ Jack
on the roads a-runnin’ just keeping it all away
so that momma’ll never see