Near The Fire Pit

Feeling myself
wake up to Winter thaw.
I miss you.  A wife, a baby
inside still screaming across the fabric
at mach 2.3.

To inconvenience.  To inconvenience?
I do not know how to reach you.
Love has not faded.
If love were projects there would be
duct tape coating every city
on the face of the earth.  Lowercase.

Picking up my phone
wasn't terrifying
before.

I've changed.  Fuck that,
you've changed.  Fuck that.
I've changed.

All I want is visitation rites
to grant visitation rights.  I kid.  I lost
you.  I was warned.  Minefields crossed
eleven inches at a time, hipdy shifty,
toes grasping terra and fumbling

and fumbling

and fumbling

pick up!

I will rip you a new one.  Jealousy is a silver bullet.
Coursing and coursing and cooling.  A tank fitting
trigger
leashed.  Pinky toe in grass.
I will find you
and adjust.

Blacklisted, haw haw haw.

In time.  I took a photograph
of the embers.
Kicking up and wandering.
What is that song?  Two coins in a fountain
or something like that.

Rip the wheels from the motorway.
Grey diamonds and chorus.  Leaf in the wind
or something like that.

Easy furnace.  The depths of love and
slag.

As much as I miss you,
sitting beside my fire pit and eating fumes,
poking the chameleon circuit flame lights,
poking the char and infrared and near white
and amber and breathed flashfire rose and glow bits,
the brain that you showed me live
on the range.
Thunder through skull underside secret
to crack the lock's door.

I believe the idea and joy of you
doing the same.

The years will fly by.

The years will fly.

Summer Cuts 3

Fly down Allegheny River Boulevard
beneath the shade leaves and lucky fuzzy dice
twirling black and gold in the windows down
whipped cabin air.

Tap fingers on the sun cracked dash
and belt Modern English's chorus
"and melt with you!"  Row the gearbox to five
and hear the burble bang of the old V8
echo against the undersides of the rotting
railway overpass.

Summer used to be funny, and smelly, and sweaty, and lazy.
Still is.  Just a lot less skin on skin these days.
The world stopped and for a little while we melted
for better and worse
and then that master clock continued to churn
and the gears
crushed me alive.

Spring is here and rushed through veins.
Cigarette butt flips and glows,
spun into the green and shadow flashes
along the road.

Is there anything worse
than being stuck in traffic
when it's 109 degrees without air conditioning
and the hangover is larger than life?
Nothing to talk about.

Blurs of silver, red, and white!
Blue, a yellow fish, a black with pink stripes!
A monster truck?  Have fun parking that.
Corners and white lines and red line and wind!
Oh, deer!  Hello, g'bye woodland ghosts.
Almost smell the river from here
"and melt with you!"
Let's go to the park today

Museum Afternoon

Thousands of ghosts
behind inch thick glass,
tastefully lit so they will not escape,
or open their plate
convincing the staff from outside.

Walking the beat
after everyone leaves,
jingle keys on my hip
to the windows and doors and the stairwell
to the roof overlooking the city.

Pass the janitor for this floor,
with his buffing machine
and headphones on
humming his music, tonight I like to believe,
just for me.

An empty case ahead.
The taxidermists are busy
in basement S3.
With thousand watt lights,
needles and magnifiers, gloves and masks.

Four floors up,
the central air groans through grates.
The food court has flies.
The Sperm whale blinks and a chair's foot squeaks
"everyone dies, some day."

Checking a watch and then a wall clock.
Nine more hours to go.
The elevator rings, opens, and remains.
No one mentioned
an exhibit cleaning.

There was a time
I could've swore
the cases would all

talk to me.

Check a watch and then a wall clock.
When we get home
we are never alone,
and more alone than we ever dreamed.
Once inside, take off our clothes.

Listening to you sleep while waiting for water to heat.
A lemon wedge in coffee on the fire escape.
Watching clouds flirt with the moon
while the star points and airplanes gleam.
Hairs stand on end

with the sun's morning yawn.
We have to go back
and place palm to glass.
We're never alone.
Tears clap to tile.

The janitor on this floor
nods and smiles
while we pretend to sneeze to wipe our nose.
Adjust the sleeves.
The elevator rings and closes.