My eyes are tearing up
where the 62nd street bridge bows
like the breaths I hold
against the night air cold when
I am gathering myself to run
the last midnight mile home,
but it is not the cold or the wind
threatening to wet
the corners of my lips.
Stars are not winking
on and off like downtown signs
in the water of the Allegheny.
Stars are bathing
naked in the current
unabashed beneath the moon and
I am more homesick
for a town
than I thought I could care to be;
the sleeping scrap yard,
the grumbling, heel dragging, coal trains,
the stairwells to nowhere and
the bad graffiti,
the bars with no windows,
the one bedroom huts,
the trash without race and
the messes of geometry
they have made, and all of it,
to a wonderful I and T,
all of it still there
waiting for me to come home.
original works of parts
The Line Drawn
I am finding it harder
by the day
to not get into screaming arguments
with animals.
Somewhere in there
we are on the same page
and I have not the knack
for whispering.
It is I who should beware the dog,
but that dog would be well advised
to beware me, too.
by the day
to not get into screaming arguments
with animals.
Somewhere in there
we are on the same page
and I have not the knack
for whispering.
It is I who should beware the dog,
but that dog would be well advised
to beware me, too.
Sea Foam Chevy Bel Air
Around the block
there are chain linked fences and
brick and mortar smoke stacks.
There is a church
that used to be a brewery
that used to be a church and
knee high grass
where train tracks are sleeping
to the sound of flood canals
quarter filled with run off
from the highlands.
There is a dealership
with paper taped windows
waiting for the painters
who promised to show
years ago and
open socket apartments above
still dark in daylight
for fire damage.
Around the block
there are dog walkers and
a couple of gas station way points
and a Chevrolet Bel Air
standing like a sea foam and cream
drop of water atop a bucket
brimming with as much time
as can be held in a hand
cupped beneath a broken faucet and
with beauty tensile enough
to strike notes against the chords of
afternoon's five barred song
in it's three hundredth interpretation of
a year long overture and
loud enough to be heard above
the ensemble familiar.
The body, the curves and points begging to be
TLC'd.
The chrome defies the suck
and winks broad
across the bar of empty lot and street.
There is so much you know
about me,
it speaks,
and so much more you have to learn
if you could spend the rest of today
with your body held tight,
fingers to my thin wheel,
with my pedals at your feet.
Glimmer shiver and tongue bit,
a heart weeps
to taste the glory of
a Valedictorian from another world,
another time, that will never sleep.
there are chain linked fences and
brick and mortar smoke stacks.
There is a church
that used to be a brewery
that used to be a church and
knee high grass
where train tracks are sleeping
to the sound of flood canals
quarter filled with run off
from the highlands.
There is a dealership
with paper taped windows
waiting for the painters
who promised to show
years ago and
open socket apartments above
still dark in daylight
for fire damage.
Around the block
there are dog walkers and
a couple of gas station way points
and a Chevrolet Bel Air
standing like a sea foam and cream
drop of water atop a bucket
brimming with as much time
as can be held in a hand
cupped beneath a broken faucet and
with beauty tensile enough
to strike notes against the chords of
afternoon's five barred song
in it's three hundredth interpretation of
a year long overture and
loud enough to be heard above
the ensemble familiar.
The body, the curves and points begging to be
TLC'd.
The chrome defies the suck
and winks broad
across the bar of empty lot and street.
There is so much you know
about me,
it speaks,
and so much more you have to learn
if you could spend the rest of today
with your body held tight,
fingers to my thin wheel,
with my pedals at your feet.
Glimmer shiver and tongue bit,
a heart weeps
to taste the glory of
a Valedictorian from another world,
another time, that will never sleep.
Arguments
There are arguments to be made
for a lot of things. This is granted.
Given.
And so we take two again
because without it
we will punch someone
dead in the chops
and regret it,
either instantly,
in the ensuing beat down
rained on our heads,
or later,
in a quiet moment of reflection
interrupted by the arrival
of the assaulted,
hours and days removed,
along with several of his friends,
who have been waiting for a reason
to prove their solidarity
and express their
pent up misgivings
with life's unfair highlights
by educating you
in how unfair life can be,
so before you march
stiff shouldered and tuck lipped
against the current
like a modern day Quixote,
remember it's never over
until they say it is and eventually
you'll be back at that bar
with your pants down
facing a urinal and
focused hard enough
on steadying yourself
to not hear the half dozen sets of footsteps
filling the tiled floor behind you.
Chop Shop Socks
I am looking forward to the day
when ailing and worn body parts
can be swapped out as easily as
shoes and socks and, in
the most complicated cases,
a contact lens or press fit earring.
Which sounds fantastic still
to my soreness, but
can you imagine
opening your sock drawer
with all of the socks and
underwear with holes and
waist bands that could not
hold up a bank
with a soap carved, shoe polished, gun
if the tellers were cardboard cut outs and
the safe was as secure
as an open box of donuts in a break room?
You could rummage
all day through that mess of
caked blood and tubing
searching for the right heart
to plug into your chest and
come up empty;
instead deigning
to wear Sunday's
for another week
when it's already half past Thursday,
but I am still looking forward
to the day when
I can have those body parts
that change out like years old clothing
I cannot throw away
because there is something to be had
in the choosing to run with it.
when ailing and worn body parts
can be swapped out as easily as
shoes and socks and, in
the most complicated cases,
a contact lens or press fit earring.
Which sounds fantastic still
to my soreness, but
can you imagine
opening your sock drawer
with all of the socks and
underwear with holes and
waist bands that could not
hold up a bank
with a soap carved, shoe polished, gun
if the tellers were cardboard cut outs and
the safe was as secure
as an open box of donuts in a break room?
You could rummage
all day through that mess of
caked blood and tubing
searching for the right heart
to plug into your chest and
come up empty;
instead deigning
to wear Sunday's
for another week
when it's already half past Thursday,
but I am still looking forward
to the day when
I can have those body parts
that change out like years old clothing
I cannot throw away
because there is something to be had
in the choosing to run with it.
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