All those times you forgot
forgot to wipe the sweat from your palms before you offered your hand dripping,
literally dripping.
And then later how a silence fell.
Empty. There are no secrets between us,
but we pretend there are when we meet.
It makes conversation easier.
It allows us to live our lives,
for things to be ordinary, which, in fact, they are.
As ordinary as can be. Here. Amongst the ruins.
Sky shifts.
A moment passes.
A color unrecognizable - and currently unobtainable.
Not so long ago you could see it - taste it, metallic in your mouth.
now it's chalk.

you go up for a refill. Decaf this time.

Nye's. 3:00pm. Snowy Saturday.

(2059)

Later you'd wake up
They always said you would
wringing your hands
wondering
where did that woman go
that friend
that baby
that body
and on the screen
at the foot of your bed
a nice man with
straight cut hair
reassures you.

Today is Wednesday
these things happened
the sun is shining, or its raining
or whatever
and I do not know where your loved ones are.

and you find the remote
and you change the channel
a movie. From 1983.
It reminds you of something.

you go back to sleep.

remission

my poetry is in remission.

active is the other part. the part of dialogue and stage directions and structure and building up a thing, a script, a pulsing blueprint. Something.

I miss my poems.

but they are stubborn and not there now.

it's a mystery.

If you see them, or know how to reach them, please contact me.

Or just tell them to come home,

i'll buy groceries and build a fire.

thanks.

gulp

Really. Time flies. Intention doesn't always combine with action - then again in the pool of this little blog does anyone hear the ripples. Well, for you, out there, we have this...

it's cold here, right on time, September - bang. Cold. Leaves start to glow a bit before the inevitable.

and when there's time suddenly you're faced square with what you avoid. And what I'm avoiding is the writing that got me to this place. Hah! Like - so there talent, you made me move, you got me to a place I can breathe and think and have support and Hah! Now I'm going to avoid you like the plague, take that helpful spirits! and that! and dang it. Fine. Back to the pages pages pages.

And here's a poem of the sort that is fast and quick.

barely letting go
fingers on a slim trigger
cut it close
shave it to the quick
screech from the heart

be careful when you are
running into ditches with the hair dryer on -

a slip a dash an ellipses
a sequence of events strung together with the filigree of memory
and a single strand of spit.

a breath

a broken bone, dangling from your mouth.

Sliver

We wind ourselves up
curl ourselves up into the ball that serves us so well -
and forget to name our children in ways that will lead them on.
instead - don't take up space
hang low on that totem pole
dream of nothing.
expect little help.
and when they knock on your door,
Hide.
it cannot be a good thing.

expectations differ here.

and then,
there's a sliver peeking out
assuring us that something, somewhere is coming -
or something somewhere brings a deep intention -
or just because you're sleeping
doesn't mean
nothing will happen.

untitled thursday

for WM

all love.
more sooner.
and listen,
making art is better than killing people and buying shit.
and listen,
u make all the difference.

and you have to start somewhere

I'm trying again. I feel out of practice. I feel dislocated - I am dislocated. No matter, it shouldn't matter. There's something to be found everywhere. So I'm trying. Bear with me and maybe a stride will be hit by the new moon. ( which is not now for those of you out of synch with the cycles.)




Since you were drunk and insisted on arguing
we had to feign sleep
instead of watching the stars pop
from the head
of the sky.

You though.
You stayed up and and watched.
Watched the eyes watching you
stretched out under the long tongue of night
licking its kitten.

and in the morning you were reborn.
and we reached for our coffee
and another day.