Kick bits of tin from between the toes,
shreds of armor from trampled foes.
A little robe, click on the telly,
note garbage day, the cave is got smelly.
Candle lit with a snot rocket,
and me oh my it is easier to breath.
A little yawn shakes the walls,
notch the day and take care of hang nailed claws.
Two birds with one
yawn again
worn out stone.
Put on the kettle full of conquered bones
and a few charred oak trunks to taste.
Breath some fire into the big belly stove,
whistle the song that nobody knows.
No home is a home and no bed
a bed proper
without a good stretch and
a waited for cup of tea.
original works of parts
The Get Down (long drive with my baby)
Push rods, cam shafts, crank and belt,
hand wheel windows, shift knob, radio,
no deck. Torn up seats, a little rust and
engine growl to keep company.
Solid steel rear views,
rain soaked iron rims,
one flame decal,
two would be sin.
Ride the white hair mammoth
out of time,
embrace hot vinyl
against skin.
Chrome littered
how long have we been datings.
I know you do you know mes.
Touching downs and ups
and whisper words greedy
both ways in tumble rough V8
and slip clutch English.
Howl to me and I will sing you back.
Together we will mow them down.
hand wheel windows, shift knob, radio,
no deck. Torn up seats, a little rust and
engine growl to keep company.
Solid steel rear views,
rain soaked iron rims,
one flame decal,
two would be sin.
Ride the white hair mammoth
out of time,
embrace hot vinyl
against skin.
Chrome littered
how long have we been datings.
I know you do you know mes.
Touching downs and ups
and whisper words greedy
both ways in tumble rough V8
and slip clutch English.
Howl to me and I will sing you back.
Together we will mow them down.
Smoker 34 (sluice candy)
Open locks
the boats go through and horns fire off
to let them know
the passage is okay.
Another kind of trainspotting
at the river
skipping stones in the palm.
Sunlight pounds a skull like a five ton yon.
Tug boats, big red barges, and little white roy G spiked speeders
slowed down until the moonlight shone.
Lits of bits and gravity nicked
until they rip their way home.
Trainspotting, line knotting
rod and reel are boned.
Never miss, never miss, another butt in an emptied beer.
Close locks.
Baseball 7 (ode to the Lions)
You want a war? We'll give you one.
Team crossed fire eyed boys
a man to a head, wringing bat grips like i.o.u. express
tickets to hell, mound to plate and back.
You come to our town and expect us
to lay down? No sir. No sir.
Bring your swords, we're bringing polished barking birds,
sights level, barrels still stinking of cleaning fluid.
Leave your keys in your cars
you'll need them soon,
we booked our field through evening, but
we'll punch your card by mid afternoon.
End of the season takes me back
to January BP, and learning how
like, fuck what was that?
Slow deuces, sliders, two seam heat.
Four seamers and dug out dust ups,
all of it restraint.
Worship, worship, pray to the gods, touching grass
and sand and sod and brim and belt and junk and spit.
High sun, night lights, pine tar and pure grit.
For the batters box and left hand gloved, all our violence saved.
Here, at home, the team we've grown is where we make our names.
Here, at home, cleats kicking plates is where our souls go bathe.
Here, at home, here, at home is where we flaunt our manes.
Team crossed fire eyed boys
a man to a head, wringing bat grips like i.o.u. express
tickets to hell, mound to plate and back.
You come to our town and expect us
to lay down? No sir. No sir.
Bring your swords, we're bringing polished barking birds,
sights level, barrels still stinking of cleaning fluid.
Leave your keys in your cars
you'll need them soon,
we booked our field through evening, but
we'll punch your card by mid afternoon.
End of the season takes me back
to January BP, and learning how
like, fuck what was that?
Slow deuces, sliders, two seam heat.
Four seamers and dug out dust ups,
all of it restraint.
Worship, worship, pray to the gods, touching grass
and sand and sod and brim and belt and junk and spit.
High sun, night lights, pine tar and pure grit.
For the batters box and left hand gloved, all our violence saved.
Here, at home, the team we've grown is where we make our names.
Here, at home, cleats kicking plates is where our souls go bathe.
Here, at home, here, at home is where we flaunt our manes.
Blazon
Shot down
Shot up
With a math
I cannot parse.
Shot down
Shot up
Shooting myself with
Hollow points
Watching the spray
With hollowed eyes
And words
I cannot say.
You know the names
That burn my lips
And still too stilled
I cannot pray.
Sky giants in my skull
Pulled from pages
I cannot review
Because they'll take the bones of my skull
to places from I cannot return.
Where it, wear it, wuz it son?
Come back to me, come back to see
what you dig up from the source.
What is all of us, but suggestion from the core?
Com bat with black on the edge of a wayward soul?
Way-ward sombitch
along the way
to the red that makes a course?
D chord. Under the sun.
Clouds like breath in Winter. Too much
makeup on you, on me. Too much tall grass
for September.
Turn us down.
Save definitely for the Fall. Right now is
ugly Summer, underdressed and over Seussed.
Shot up
With a math
I cannot parse.
Shot down
Shot up
Shooting myself with
Hollow points
Watching the spray
With hollowed eyes
And words
I cannot say.
You know the names
That burn my lips
And still too stilled
I cannot pray.
Sky giants in my skull
Pulled from pages
I cannot review
Because they'll take the bones of my skull
to places from I cannot return.
Where it, wear it, wuz it son?
Come back to me, come back to see
what you dig up from the source.
What is all of us, but suggestion from the core?
Com bat with black on the edge of a wayward soul?
Way-ward sombitch
along the way
to the red that makes a course?
D chord. Under the sun.
Clouds like breath in Winter. Too much
makeup on you, on me. Too much tall grass
for September.
Turn us down.
Save definitely for the Fall. Right now is
ugly Summer, underdressed and over Seussed.
The Drums Die
She pulled back my headphones
while the wind was roaring,
my eyes in my notebook,
to tell me what I cannot remember.
Strands of her hair blew
into my mouth.
I crushed the can in my hand
a little,
her hand cupped to my ear
so I would not miss a word.
I put down my notebook and stood up.
She took my hand to the edge of the rooftop.
Below us, all along the curb,
turn signals, and tail lights, and glass
shone in the sunlight like jaw breakers
blown apart from a kicked in machine.
My fingers in hers, palms beaming.
My eyes grin
her mouth nods back I know.
while the wind was roaring,
my eyes in my notebook,
to tell me what I cannot remember.
Strands of her hair blew
into my mouth.
I crushed the can in my hand
a little,
her hand cupped to my ear
so I would not miss a word.
I put down my notebook and stood up.
She took my hand to the edge of the rooftop.
Below us, all along the curb,
turn signals, and tail lights, and glass
shone in the sunlight like jaw breakers
blown apart from a kicked in machine.
My fingers in hers, palms beaming.
My eyes grin
her mouth nods back I know.
Stray Cats
Come and gone through screen doors,
ain't seen you since... where's my calendar.
Kicking the butts of your cigarettes off of my porch,
sun and the moon up at once.
The hound across the street is baying
the way she always does.
Leafing through the mail
where is my nail clipper?
Momma used to clean them out with a little hook thingy.
I chewed them some last night.
Stay on the ball. Dad used to do hand gestures,
rub his fingers, pointer to thumb, and point
at my eyes
and it meant "Pay, see pay? Okay? So, pay. Got it? Alright,
pay attention!"
At least that's what he would say.
I cannot remember the last time I clipped them,
but I do know how iffy that gunk is and the hit or miss taste
and so I chew them some more
sight on contrast
nail to white envelope crease, thumbing through.
Nothing good comes by post
these days. Coffee steam is more beautiful come winter
out of doors. A short trip, but a trip nonetheless
to see sunlit clouds and contrails.
Why didn't you call me?
Kicking your cigarette butts off my porch
the letters from bill collectors go back in the box
and I stretch,
rub my eyes,
and wake up for you,
wherever you are.
ain't seen you since... where's my calendar.
Kicking the butts of your cigarettes off of my porch,
sun and the moon up at once.
The hound across the street is baying
the way she always does.
Leafing through the mail
where is my nail clipper?
Momma used to clean them out with a little hook thingy.
I chewed them some last night.
Stay on the ball. Dad used to do hand gestures,
rub his fingers, pointer to thumb, and point
at my eyes
and it meant "Pay, see pay? Okay? So, pay. Got it? Alright,
pay attention!"
At least that's what he would say.
I cannot remember the last time I clipped them,
but I do know how iffy that gunk is and the hit or miss taste
and so I chew them some more
sight on contrast
nail to white envelope crease, thumbing through.
Nothing good comes by post
these days. Coffee steam is more beautiful come winter
out of doors. A short trip, but a trip nonetheless
to see sunlit clouds and contrails.
Why didn't you call me?
Kicking your cigarette butts off my porch
the letters from bill collectors go back in the box
and I stretch,
rub my eyes,
and wake up for you,
wherever you are.
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