The plastic wrapped cheese and bread slices were weightless
in my pack while I walked through the green stubble
that threatened the front walk. I should have brought
fruit. They were mottled like the cloud cover
today, so I didn't. Maybe I can pick something from
the gutters that haven't been cleaned in two years.
"Impossible is nothing against the most improbable."
Your words not mine. "You are what you eat."
Point "A" to point "B".
Only now it’s just me. A point "A" with nowhere to go.
I thought I would well in the months following my departure.
I’ve been told I am simply out of touch,
that it would hit me later,
and it didn’t.
I stood in front of the old haunt
where we built a red edged closeness.
And it stared back,
half eaten by wild grass, caked thick
in pollen and tree bits. The thought occurred,
watching it weep rust, sagging in the center of this God damned downpour,
that there will never be another grin speckled trip
to Colorado’s foothills.
original works of parts
The Feet that Stir the Leaves
I want something important
to come out of my mouth
every time I sit down.
I scattered pages off of my desk.
I tore lines
and lines
and lines
out of notebooks with thin, stringy binding,
that has aged cheaply.
I rubbed and stroked and coaxed
words out of my head with frustrated
hard palms crushing my temples
like a scene out of a mobster flick.
And the products are still
no better than what I might stroke
from a dog's dick.
I walk and circle the block twice
then three
and I realize the thing that I saw in my dream
is receding with every inch of time surrendered.
I want something important
to come out of my mouth
every time I sit down.
I want to know that there is
an idea there worth scribbling.
An idea that is worth more
than the same idea
I had five years ago.
Or was it six. The five settling in
for comfort
in its roundness in the mouth
where more pointed things
more difficult things
once lived.
Sitting legs tucked
and untucked
and sidelong
and wide
and feet up
and feet down,
however oriented
the blood does not keep
within the housing that needs it most.
Out of doors again
and I walked, feet dragging,
then tripping, then dragging,
and walked to find
a certain something
I lost before the sun came
to heckle the waste
and the wasted.
I stumbled to a halt
two dozen feet up the street
and sat to a stoop
that was not my home
because I heard and I knew
the footsteps
that stirred the leaves behind me
were the same
and I was not
dreaming.
Every time I sit down
and open my mouth
I know him above and beyond all doubt.
And can capture so little of the feel.
to come out of my mouth
every time I sit down.
I scattered pages off of my desk.
I tore lines
and lines
and lines
out of notebooks with thin, stringy binding,
that has aged cheaply.
I rubbed and stroked and coaxed
words out of my head with frustrated
hard palms crushing my temples
like a scene out of a mobster flick.
And the products are still
no better than what I might stroke
from a dog's dick.
I walk and circle the block twice
then three
and I realize the thing that I saw in my dream
is receding with every inch of time surrendered.
I want something important
to come out of my mouth
every time I sit down.
I want to know that there is
an idea there worth scribbling.
An idea that is worth more
than the same idea
I had five years ago.
Or was it six. The five settling in
for comfort
in its roundness in the mouth
where more pointed things
more difficult things
once lived.
Sitting legs tucked
and untucked
and sidelong
and wide
and feet up
and feet down,
however oriented
the blood does not keep
within the housing that needs it most.
Out of doors again
and I walked, feet dragging,
then tripping, then dragging,
and walked to find
a certain something
I lost before the sun came
to heckle the waste
and the wasted.
I stumbled to a halt
two dozen feet up the street
and sat to a stoop
that was not my home
because I heard and I knew
the footsteps
that stirred the leaves behind me
were the same
and I was not
dreaming.
Every time I sit down
and open my mouth
I know him above and beyond all doubt.
And can capture so little of the feel.
We Walk Around a Lake and You Hold My Index Finger
Below the green stained glass
of malformed tree tops.
Astride genuine remorse
and sour reminiscences.
Between the barking of my torn
laces (stepped on
for the last time).
Between rays of sunshine,
tilting with the fury of traveling
80 million miles and, only now
arriving, to no praise,
your steps flare upon each
paved stone before us.
Your words run round
my tottering, cat tempered, muse
with sure hands
just as your hair
subdues the sun's lance
and I, spittle lipped,
take a breath and another
in the space you left
on the fractured concrete path beside you.
of malformed tree tops.
Astride genuine remorse
and sour reminiscences.
Between the barking of my torn
laces (stepped on
for the last time).
Between rays of sunshine,
tilting with the fury of traveling
80 million miles and, only now
arriving, to no praise,
your steps flare upon each
paved stone before us.
Your words run round
my tottering, cat tempered, muse
with sure hands
just as your hair
subdues the sun's lance
and I, spittle lipped,
take a breath and another
in the space you left
on the fractured concrete path beside you.
Pacman Prepared Me For Life Better Than Jesus
Mind your own business.
There are no bad neighborhoods,
only opportunistic loiterers.
Sometimes the best route
means taking a dark shortcut.
You can never eat too much
if you stay active.
Life will corner the man
with his eyes glued
to the prize.
Turn the other cheek
and the rest of your body
and run like hell.
All that glitters
is probably a trap;
pursue with care.
Second chances are earned
with consistent performance.
The best revenge
is sprung from behind.
The assholes in life are
probably friends with each other.
What you do with a drug
determines its reputation.
Riches will only come
with fastidious saving.
Instinct alone will
probably get you killed.
The journey is usually the best reward,
but don't use all of your quarters
or you won't have enough
to dry your clothes.
There are no bad neighborhoods,
only opportunistic loiterers.
Sometimes the best route
means taking a dark shortcut.
You can never eat too much
if you stay active.
Life will corner the man
with his eyes glued
to the prize.
Turn the other cheek
and the rest of your body
and run like hell.
All that glitters
is probably a trap;
pursue with care.
Second chances are earned
with consistent performance.
The best revenge
is sprung from behind.
The assholes in life are
probably friends with each other.
What you do with a drug
determines its reputation.
Riches will only come
with fastidious saving.
Instinct alone will
probably get you killed.
The journey is usually the best reward,
but don't use all of your quarters
or you won't have enough
to dry your clothes.
Country Living
You can keep your country
and your dewy blades of evening grass,
your twinkling porch lamp spider webs,
your noonday napping cats and dirt paths.
You can keep your safety
and your mail men in safari shorts,
your frozen, ready to serve, apple pies,
your fireside ciders, sherry's and ports.
You can keep your orchards
and your four mile walk to the grocer's,
your twenty minute drive for a drop of gas,
your Sunday shuttered liquor stores.
You can keep your church
and your senselessly looping streets,
your door to door fundraising children,
your tidy lawns and meet and greets.
You can keep your notions
and your dreams of a little prairie house,
but I am finished living with retirees
and the rest of the bible belt south.
and your dewy blades of evening grass,
your twinkling porch lamp spider webs,
your noonday napping cats and dirt paths.
You can keep your safety
and your mail men in safari shorts,
your frozen, ready to serve, apple pies,
your fireside ciders, sherry's and ports.
You can keep your orchards
and your four mile walk to the grocer's,
your twenty minute drive for a drop of gas,
your Sunday shuttered liquor stores.
You can keep your church
and your senselessly looping streets,
your door to door fundraising children,
your tidy lawns and meet and greets.
You can keep your notions
and your dreams of a little prairie house,
but I am finished living with retirees
and the rest of the bible belt south.
Smoker 1
If you had a choice
and your choices were
to litter your day
with sprinkles of
light headed smiles
loose conversation
and ten minutes of
every handful of hours
to watch the clouds go by
knowing that I
won't live to see
myself forget
the sprayed swaths
of light and shadow lace
draped across building
faces towering cathedric
over me or the feel
of the afternoon breeze
barreling down
the slanted paving
of the side alley
lounge
and shouldering left
and right the pebbly city stink
burping through
iron gratings
long enough
to snatch a mid day yawn
in peace
or-
I know what I would pick.
and your choices were
to litter your day
with sprinkles of
light headed smiles
loose conversation
and ten minutes of
every handful of hours
to watch the clouds go by
knowing that I
won't live to see
myself forget
the sprayed swaths
of light and shadow lace
draped across building
faces towering cathedric
over me or the feel
of the afternoon breeze
barreling down
the slanted paving
of the side alley
lounge
and shouldering left
and right the pebbly city stink
burping through
iron gratings
long enough
to snatch a mid day yawn
in peace
or-
I know what I would pick.
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