Washington 2011

Washington 2011

San Diego 2007

It's times like these when I want to get away:
times when the clouds no longer bleed into the sky;
but the days do seem to bleed into one another
and when each scar is parallel to the one before.
No,
I don't think you do understand.
There are no overstatements here.
I will keep this grudge
like I 'kept' that photo
we took that day last June.
Too soon I will drive away from this personal
wreckage!
Too soon:
after two days
and two days
and two more
I drive away
with the wind at my back
and in my hair,
with my bonsai tree
in the seat beside me:
no agenda,
no distractions,
just miles of highway in both directions
on recycled tires-
a circle of life new-age style
with rubber
to road
and the pedal
to the metal.
And I will wake with the sun if I so choose!
Not to make him his secret pre-dawn pick-me-up
(a quad espresso macchiato),
but to hang with him
in this sky
on these lazy summer days.
I'll smile on all those who I'll see.
I'll eat nothing but bagels for three weeks
living day to day,
from penny to penny,
from here
to there,
from this Starbucks café in wind blown Orlando
to the Hot Monkey Love Café in downtown San Diego
to see Bushwalla
sing Ghettoblaster
and Self-Deprecating Hip Hop.
Throw in a friendly face,
barely recognizable after
all
these
years
and off I'll go
down the road
to lovely,
sunny
San Diego.



Written in Florida summer 2007

Rain

Sometimes,
when it's raining,
I go to my car
and I close the door
and I put my seat back
and I close my eyes
and I listen.
I listen.

When she leaves she never says goodbye.
She just gets up
walks out.
And it's not that she doesn't care;
it's just that she doesn't lie.
See, there's nothing 'good' about it.
When you're her friend,
you're probably her only friend
her best friend,
and she fucking falls in love
with every other person she meets.
Every time you look at her,
her heart
skips a beat;
and every time you look away it breaks.
Can you imagine?
Can you imagine?

And she won't say 'see you later'
because chances are
she probably won't.
She'll pack up and leave town
talking about new adventures
and opportunities
to fall in love...
...again.
And she'll stand there
with one hand on the door
and take that
last
look
and you won't even know it.
You won't even know it
until she's gone.





Arizona 2008 Photos: Colorado 2011, Washington 2011

Moon Song

The moon pearl shines down
and the knife air sharp bites
at my hollowing lungs,
my drum cavern lungs bringing in
and puff fogging out again this
stabbing crisp night.
This glow city life beats
through my willow limbs
creeps through my windows in
and settles deep in my heaving center.
Here, by my heartbeat,
is where this night busy lives.
And from here I make my moon call,
howling my cry to rise through the night,
breaking my skin on the
hum-twanging metal strings
fighting to keep meaning things,
trying to make passing wolves skipping-sing.
The soul of everything is here
on my city street home.
My hobo lungs carrying moon-wails and
biting back at the chilly nipping frost air,
not for your dollar there,
tossing and turning in its
corner-less taming cage at my stiff frozen feet.
My hobo lungs carrying moon wails and
biting back at the chilly nipping frost air
for precisely
and entirely
just
the sharp tooth sting
of pulling light, city-lit, night air
in.

















Massachusetts 2011; Photo Washington 2011

Mes Saisons

printempsétéautomnehiver

Spring: Colorado 2010, Summer: Washington 2011, Fall: Washington 2011, Winter: Virginia 2009

Adelaide

I named my car Adelaide
and she makes me want to sing
and the open road is calling,
but he...
He kicks up his heels and runs aground:
left hand on the steering wheel,
beckoning to cardboard cities like
a lighthouse through the fog.
And he says he won't drink because of
her
but he'll tilt my feverish mind
astride these trampolines
and paper cranes.
No, wait.
I'm confused.
"You're awesome," he says.
"I like you."
And my stick figures stand amazed
on some hill by some sea somewhere.
Slow down!
My cardboard cities crumble...
'I like you,' you said?
Now, there's not much I won't do these days.
There's not much I won't think or say,
but every time he walks away
I
can't
breathe!
... and that matters to me.
So I'll pack my trunk
and as I'll settle, in my funk,
a staticy, bassey blue will croon its soothing sound waves
and I'll fly
faster
and faster;
and, at fifty,
the spattered glass will collect
and give birth to raindrops,
which, in their defiant creation,
fall up
and mock the tears on my face,
for, I won't know where I'm flying to;
but I do know that I'm fine
flying
at fifty.
So I'll go
on my own,
because the open road is calling
and Adelaide won't wait for long.



Florida 2009

Twin Falls, Idaho 2011

Of Country, World, and God -or- Spiders and Ants

As cities sprawl like spider webs,
Lady Liberty, like a mischievous child with dirty knees,
beckons forward from the air and sea
the tired, the hungry, the poor.
These she piles before her, and,
with magnifying glass in glaring torch hand,
promptly sets to popping, hissing, snarling, smoky flame.
What cares could she possibly have for their anguish?
For, they are mere ants to her Amazonian figure;
and their screams are indistinguishable from
the squealing steam escaping their exoskeletons.

And the earth?
She is a woman, too;
lying luxuriously on a blanket
in a shady warm field.
Fresh from a picnic,
and perhaps a love-affair,
she sighs as she sprawls, stretches, and, amused,
admires the little creatures which crawl
upon her delicate,
delectable,
electric flesh.
Even though they may carry the slaughtered remains
of their friends, enemies,
ten times the weight of the world on their shoulders,
they charm her,
and she naps
as they trek across the mountains and valleys of her body,
bridge her vast oceans of passionate sweat,
nestle in her many encompassing crevices.
She is their world,
and to some their God,
and she sleeps, half-smiling,
tickled by their warpath,
rolling over haphazardly,
oblivious to the destruction which ensues.

And God?
He, she, it gently mends the strings of her web
and smiles at the life in the palms of his hands.
She rocks gently to soothe what it can.
He pulls life close to watch all
and, with caring furrowed brow,
nods sympathetically
as spiders suck dry ants,
and ants eat decaying spiders.
"I know it hurts right now.
I know.
But this is how I made you-
to be consumed by those whom you once assumed
to be your enemies,
your nourishment,
your prey.
And I promise to you,
if you look deeper,
it gets better.
I swear it gets better.
I know.
I know.
It gets better."


Washington 2011; Photo Massachusetts 2012

If there were a bunch of lamp-posts and we were birds, I'd perch on the one you were perched on so we could be close together.




Massachusetts 2012