Tuesday, October 25, 2016

That first jog

I can't help but think of st louis
and the lights under the great ghastly arch
at night casting long dark shadows
like the long dark river under its feet
on violet midwestern clouds
the first and birth place of those clouds
stretching for miles off into profound distances
of the great flat land
digging from its body the cool autumn air
the memory of which is forever fallen into the past
becoming something lost and as fabled as the idea before
when I look back and see three sentinels of american road
forever crossing that rushing mother's tear
over that long gray stretch stitched into the belly of the night
when leaves draw on the faces of what is to come
their prophetic scrawl
when I see my hat bouncing off into the great haunted past
long and gone and coming at once again
when I know I must go
or be lost and be lost
or die and die and be gone
where did our message come to rest?
on your sandy shores? or somewhere else?
and what was written? How long ago?

Friday, October 21, 2016

Autumnal Pome

gust of wind comes with Windsor Chimes,
dotted by dried brown oak leaves,
wet with the thin droplets of coming rain,
willows in grey fall breeze,

swirling descends October's face,
groaning bends the tireless oak trees,
red and expressionless the buildings on the square,
lit with warm, stagnant, yellow light,

heavy comes the storm unopposed,
washing, wiping, rushing summers memory away.

Thursday, October 20, 2016

Was there ever?

you never broke my heart
but you ran away
you made me chase you through the summer snow
through my many memories of you
through meadows where white sheets hung to dry
though it rained and rained in daydreams
yet the sky stayed so blue so blue
though it was never so cold as it seemed
and I could only catch the sunlight off your sun drenched heels
as you turned your head as you turned away
brushing your fingers lightly on the seams of your hair
i remember then every day was spring or like fall
though there were many miles between
my bed and how many miles between yours
like years between each drop of rain
between each flowing ivory sheet
between each gust of wind tangled in your white dress
was there ever a time I cannot recall
when it was not you and me?

Wednesday, October 19, 2016

garbage disposal safe

i walked to the kitchen sink
over the soaked floor
bits of floating things between my toes
the slick tile floor
i walked up to the kitchen sink
overflowing it rim
dark water in dark night
i hadn't paused to flip the light on
there was another switch and the sink roared
above the tearing sound the puddles set still
i reached my hand into the inky black depths
what things what terrible leviathans there are
in the deepest bluest sea
i was only one man and knowing the morning would come
with or without me
i walked back to my bed to sleep to dream maybe
but to sleep
on my covers i gently wiped my feet
my bleeding knuckles my broken nails
my skeleton's grip.

Monday, October 17, 2016

those walks with you

when I was younger I would pick a direction and walk
until after a few hours I was lost somewhere new
cruching across the crabgrass everywhere new looked
                       everywhere old and the same in the suburbs
I would often follow cracks in cement winding streets
or slip through small wooded parks with rusting swings
                                              and clusters of silent trees
or step over flowered fences tramping through front yards
always the eyes would watch
                                                yet there were no fences
nothing to bar my path a few stones a welcome mat
the trash would be rotting on tuesdays and thursdays
there were never enough hours to escape the county
it just stretched on and on with cars following
cars being shuffled along a string forward and back
eventually I would start back attempting a different path
looking all the same and new and never strange back to my room
and my home looking never different always the same

Sunday, October 16, 2016

sunday parking

no parking leaves idle cars
along unclaimed oft used track
empty lots with yellow weeds
sickly trees

the trek between shopping center and condo center

davis cvs arlington 395 on ramp 233
airport access run potomac avenue unnamed
clark no left

private property signs spray painted white
dumpsters rust blue block the right lane
blunt onto southbound
route 1

not many spots left untagged without hazard lights
under the marriot grey shade

trash litters the white lined walkway
ignorant green yellow red light stop sign spray
no sidewalk no crosswalk almost no street to walk across

Thursday, October 13, 2016

it was ever real


the world moved

around the room

with windows     closed

discarded strawberry greens

a light left on without reason

slumping bodies

stationary in plastic bins

pens bleed out


the sun moved past

around the moon

yet to pass

the roads spun     in place

beneath parallel sheets

concrete and steel moue


the essential

around the missing piece

and a mistaken belief

Tuesday, October 11, 2016

written while walking

it doesn't go away

if it washes on by

those pillars of stone

your dress washed in white

eyes golden brown

may it might have rained that night

maybe might the sky be heavy gray

it doesn't go away

if it's gone on by

that long walk way

your silent steps

your golden pink lips

Saturday, October 8, 2016

even as I dry

rains over money rains alike
rains over cold gray buildings
even as the day even as time

i crossed the street into the gray current
there was a group with yellow flyers
passing them down the gray line

rains over aluminum barriers
rains over thin gray stone
even as the footsteps even as the umbrella cries

i shuffled between the bodies into the gray light
under the open stretched glass doors
sifting through metal detecting ports

rains over 13 storeys rains on the floor
rains over cold gray eyes
even as the poor even as the poor

i sat for three hours i sit for many more
there once the clock hits four
passing through the same corridors came before

rains over me rains alighted
rains over my gray shirt
even as I walk even as I dry

even as I walk

even as I dry

Thursday, October 6, 2016

might be long gone

around the spiral stair     it gets brighter as you go
toward the bottom floor

all laid out with white tile
following the pattern maintained on the floors above

                                     in a long switchback square
at the end          a line of black soled feet high and low
snaked about five chair columns in 6 rows

originating from the white desk beyond the white flat screen tv

drip coffee lined          a million million dollars a head
where all the poor poor children go

and free coffee down down on down the line
on the plantation row a thousand miles away     and here

one steaming fee free double espresso.

there were notes off the train

there were notes off the train

long lines like arrow marks across my face
carried by thin wisps of light

I was how many drinks in

pages bleeding together in my hands

all those words

fuck were they trying to say

bodies moving at the stop or swing or curve
afraid to say

this was the silent train
noone dared to say

outside metal screamed and cried

lightning flickered many feet underground

above who knows
below who knows

whenever one of us cared
the doors left us before
and behind.

Tuesday, September 20, 2016


these times between          grow short

I am not me for what I     was

a gnawing at the bone          the ivory bone of things
at the heart     goes corrupt

this standing still     this one view

harder to see from the lip      of my deepening grave

there is everywhere else to go     and the dirt packs
dry and sick           about the horizon

Monday, September 19, 2016

She was of dying

'take me behind the barn doors' she said
                                                   'and fuck me where you have no cock'

so hanging from the exposed wood she said,

'this is rape'

I know.

'and you are scared,' she said and I had already said I know.

it was too dark to find the gash
                                                   at my waist

she pulled her nails across my eyes

there were eyes in the next stall rolling

a faint sound

from my lips or
                          from hers

'you can't do anything right,' I whispered.

Tuesday, September 13, 2016


one by one
each letter back to you
scratched in ink cuts
meaning less than you can say
splashed with ink guts
thick and red under fingers
running nails about its edge
the thread drags open and closes
uneven markings printed lines
ripples spiraling along the grain
with a stench to follow
building along with the years
one by one they pile each sediment in line
layers that sticks to your skin
that rising that sinking
to bury you

to bury you.

Love note

she came by yesterday
four a couple minutes
i dont know lately
things have been weird
between us;
she didn't say anything.

i asked her not to cry
but she covered her eyes
and turned out the lights,

she ruined my shoes
and didn't think twice about it.