3 a.m. rainstorm quiet
bad cut shirt
coffee cup liquor handle broke
window silence alley out
slow tree sway
late dinner gas
sleep
a missed connection

night of nothing done
three hours
internet etc
ok. so.
maybe two

On The Table / Out To Sea

a lake of bleach
rising up
before collapsing
sinking in
saturating the soil
purposeful
so that we could watch
a wither
and die
with set up camp
of blankets
take-out chinese
the world outside
buried in ice
front row seats
for inevitable demise
with ashtrays filling
and whiskey
self drinking
realization
sunk in sinking
no coming back
from this
the end
clocks frozen
changing leaves
gone
only a knowing
it was time
a floating out
and to sea
of sleep
to drift ashore
onto sands
of awake
imperceptible change
no change at all
a floating back
to sea
of sleep
to drift ashore
back to sea
no change at all
with morning light
we awoke
shipwrecked
to green gone brown
the proof
sunken collapsing
of our own actions
to this
the withered
and died

bluegrey
dark city
night sky
row'supon'rows
houses blocks
fear and death
airfull
slow dance
smoke and pine
end of a summer
but year still

So Now As I'm Leavin' / I'm Weary As Hell

sixteen days work
today hours thirteen
almost too much
when all around me
are passing
their insides
exploding
their hearts
leaving
their bodies
missing
the flies have come
living among
the corners
i call home
this whole town
empty
and i tell the foreman
i've got about
this much
left in me
and the foreman
he says
hold it
nearly there
and i believe
believe he knows
believe he cares
believe he is
the sole voice
can pull me through
and apron i pull on
of camarada
numero uno
of pinche guey
oxen yoked
of pulling through
till leventh hour struck
and we are arrived
we
are
arrived
pulled through
and despite
all signs
all sighs
all sigils
till demon cars
carry home
dodge and weave
horns in time
to pop song
dance anthem
take the turn
onto road home
to be stopped
and stopped
by dancing in street
in time
to pop song
dance anthem
kids drunk
kids high
kids both
kids neither
a fuck about traffic
not giv'n
but only
ass shakin
dance breakin
in street middle
fuck all
and else
you know
home is never
and don't matter
how much
for wanting
a neverthing
had nor found
but home
you are
and nothing
but poem
shit comes
brooklyn sun rising
new day
still alive
and breathing
exhausted tired
not sleeping
motor running
highest gear
here i am
pale skinlight shining
smoking drinking
waiting hoping
nothing doing
stamps on table writing
for only checks renting
never writing
not exactly liking
who i am having
become

For Kirsten Mae

graduation
this month
eighteen this september
i remember the year
by that first photograph
a trip past Chicago
the first World Cup
on American shores
and vinyl chair
hospital brown
near new mother's bed
placed in my arms
frightened
of destroying everything
all plump face
and mother's eyes
myself still young
but knowing one's name
before one knows herself
making me feel
impossibly adult
but life
and from nothing
into humble beginning
a baby
in cradle
while i played pirate
in park
down the street
and turning around
to refusals
of tuna salad
because dad
makes it different
and once again frightened
the destroying
the everything
but as if
in an instant
so very much more
her own force of nature
impossible to destroy
and from nowhere
that voice
impossibly adult
what had once
been red-faced wail
had since become
angelic song
and then letter on desk
unnecessary envelope
nameplate
sun-drenched photograph
announcement official
on to new life
but all i can think
is vinyl chair
hospital brown
eighteen this september
myself more child
than she

So Let Us Not Talk Falsely Now

that first date challenge

romantic gauntlet

scares the hell

right out

but the excitement

even vicarious

sets my heart

racing on fire

the first exposure

of family secret

sexual proclivity

even pastime preference

all intimate opening

leading to touch

to lips

to skin

to maybe not

it is first date

after all

walk to door

or bus or train

put you in a cab

at very least

kiss goodnight

or all the way

do you have condoms?

contact solution?

spare toothbrush?

so much said

so much not

a negotiation

all over drinks

or perhaps

not

because really

just because i

can't remember

my last first sober

doesn't mean

that others

don't do different

but how they do

is far beyond me

because liquid lubrication

has always helped

loosen the gears

and always inevitable

and without fail

comes talk

of loves former lost

those other half

of memories formed

a life shaped

by opposite soul

and always met

with agreeable smile

accepting nod

knowing the same

true on both sides

behind opposite eyes

waiting to tell

each and one's own

because these lives

in this town

come so rarely

without baggage

and really

rarely means never

and the clothes

all casual best

wallet

just a little loose

can't try too hard

the goal

is to win

at least before loss

stringing along

with eyes wide

and back tense

holding out

for the moment

the relieve

where it all goes

one way

or another

it's getting late

another round?

sure

why not