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

this is nothing

nibs licks his gray fur in the yellow sun rays
Tom Waits sings a boiling sea
you can match the rhythm of both
to the south going traffic and the rain never came

what if many things could mean many things?

downstairs I clacked in sandals to the lobby
watched an old man drink a sextuple espresso
frowning into his cup
filled my own double shot

what if one thought could be many thoughts?

on the elevator my floor was already pushed
when it stopped I was the only one to get off
I waited to be last but there was only me to go

what if many actions had no consequences?

nibs waited at the door fur darkened
he pushed his head into the hallway
pupils wide looking right
looking left

I nudged his nose back inside with my foot.

It's the time

half the window is gray, half is sunlit
the gray half is leaning south along the highway,
east toward the sea the sunlit half moving away,

below both halves construction murmurs,
muffled voices mixed with clanging steel and stone,

the building across is cutoff by the protruding balcony above,
thin tree branches reach over the railings, little spots of green,

there is a chair on one side and a chair outside, both are facing me,

I am seeing through concrete walls as always facing west.

on seeing an ad for the sale of the family pet

speaking in sentences left over from February
with the leaves summer green in the cured alley
this is where we left it sweating and alone
on the closing iron gate etched in black dials
password unchanged littered with uppercase variables
                                                     and lowercase signs
he showed puppy dog eyes to the turned heads
warm backs emaciated legs
                                             there were no muscles there
just 1000 dollar bills spray painted green spin cyles and red tacs
the worth of the life of a pet for man's name blank blank blank
what is no longer wanted is worth something to someone in the end
                                              numbers on the bank account screen.

the city is not a monstrous crone

when in bed         cat's paw off cliff side cellulose desk

     you have failed the test of Yamauba

the mountain is a dim light          the mountain is a flatland

     the pink toes face west turned to setting suns

where there is a place of enlightenment          there are bulldozed lanes

     all offices across the gorge are lined empty with furniture

yet the body still remains          switchbacks make like fire escapes

     up and down and to and from        

lead to roof        and away from ground

Yellowed

Everything is coated
in a film
yellow dust,
some areas more
than others,
desk by the window
most of all,
I feel it on my
clothes, bed,
towels, on my
skin, in my mouth,
eyes, under my finger
nails, toenails, in
each fiber of the carpet,
chairs, sprinkled in
the cup of water by my bed,
I cannot escape it,
last night I lay in bed,
wool sock over mouth
trying not to breathe,
I feel it in my lungs,
sifting, sifting, sifting,
further down, is it
killing me I wonder,
will it kill me?
I don't even know what
it is, how it is,
why it is, I used a napkin
to wipe the layers
off my typewriter case,
it seems like dirt, is it
dirt? I'm afriad to tell
anyone about it, afraid to
ask, afraid it's not really
there, I want to by sanitary
wipes, but they'll run out,
I don't have any
towels, rags, shirts, pants,
to waste, I only have
a few more days, I am
buried in it, I am
yellow, sulfur is yellow,
death is yellow, suffocation.

A Tunnel of Steel Reserve

Empty Steel Reserves,
individually bagged,
lay in a slim, brick-walled
tunnel under US route 1,
along with a few cans of
Coors and a beer you wouldn't
recognize side of tall boy
reading -IDE, offering
some kind of story of
night, from the night,
before, it's raining now,
cold, hard, January rain,
last night rained even harder,
imagine those hands seeking
respite from freezing wetness
of closing hours, darkened streets,
lonely highway passages,
imagined drunkenness, sadness,
un-watched aching eyes
peering into the fluorescent
bitterness of tunnels lights,
strange, english muffin looking
dripping ceiling scratched lengthwise
bladed hand of some horrible
nightmare beast,
imagine fumes of beer,
a story to fill last hopeless hours
of the day, day gone now, fading
into memory, imagine leaning
hearts, folded, buried, wishful
of old places, better days,
imagine a story lost
to time and ignorance,
speaking sorrowfully, gladly,
maybe regretfully to me as
I avoid the rain,as I
drink in the mornings
stories.

Halfmoon DC

She was struggling up
the sidewalk, sun sinking
temperature still
over 90 degrees, arms
waving as she walked
out like she was balancing
herself, legs wobbling too,
overweight, overwrought,
rushing, almost frantic,
surely late,
I could hear her heavy
breaths in my head from a block
away,
           "Get outta here!" she said,
"Halfmoon Bay!"

pointing at my shirt,
                                  "That's
where I'm from! I just flew
in!"

we passed each other, I
turned around,
                        "What're you
doing here?!" I asked,

She laughed, wheezing, smiled,
sweating,
                continued on.

Building up to this

clouds moving in
cars in line
just rolling now
not yet rush hour,
bus stop bench and
canopy on south going
side of street two figures
sitting metro paper in
hand, gray sky now
sun gone, chilly, spring
chilly may the 5th
slight wind, not enough to
blow the paper pages
enough to rustle the trees,
all you see in the distance,
trees and sky, snake like
tunnel leads underground
tunnel across street unseen,
red top taxis count'em, go
from arlington/alexandria to
Dc not the other way around,
red circular buses monday-
friday schedule break
between stops and fwush
of air click-slide of door,
afternoon after lunch silence
woman dressed in black
slow walking slow crosses
one-way street
hands in pockets.

Apartment talk

a guy screamed the other day,
at least I think it was a guy,
it sounded like a guy for sure,
well, he screamed and it was
like he was standing next to me,
it was so loud, so clear,
I wasn't sure if it came from the
hallway or from outside the window,
but you'd think they'd at least muffle
the sound somehow,
After the yell there was nothing,
just silence in both directions for
maybe 30 seconds, then I heard
doors opening, questions in the hall,
"did you hear that?" "what was that?"
"I don't know sounded like..."
a little while after that the doors closed
the silence returned, I sat on the couch
looking up at the ceiling, afternoon light
fading, and I couldn't get one particular
thought out of my head, I kept thinking,
"that's probably the first time those people
have ever talked to each other."

Waiting for Felicia

smells like formaldehyde
everywhere, now spring,
so man decide plant,
pretty up park, where two
limos parked, girls turn
16, take photos,

this might be worst place
on earth right now to try and
read, indoors there's music and
shops, metal wire tables, no
room to think, I want to be out
in that sun but--there's nowhere
to sit & be

water isn't even running through
fountain yet. but fuck, it's nice out

I walk back and forth trying a few spots
all the same, can't find a sentence, can't breathe,

landscapers stop to stare
at procession of young girls,
pink dresses,

limo reads

"Sixteen & Weddings
THE MAGAZINE"

what's the connection?
not sure--

I want to read but the world
chases me
away--

Parking Scheduled

about 34 degrees,
sky is that strange city glow,
purple-orange
hue, makes me think of rain
or the cold or 2 am walking home
drunk, street lights obscured
by dampness in the air,

I take a deep breath by the side
of the road, wait for a lazy car to pass,
it turns, lights fading away,

next car won't pass for a minute or so,
headlights off in the distance
out past Glebe,

I look both ways,
there's dark clouds gravid with
coming storms up there,
or maybe just the same old night
sky,

who knows...?

it'll have to wait, anyway,
I've got just enough time
to take a piss and get going.

Crystal Drive

They tell you to pull up,
watch the double park baby,
but you do it anyway,
no look, 'cause fuck it, right? who
wants to wait out in the cold
driving around to find a single
space, when no one's gonna
drop the ball on the surveillance
gig, got it?

It's a two mile walk, dig?

below zero, cloud cover
straight line jig,

gotta prep yourself for the cold
and eat it,

there ain't no other option.

our new sheets

new room
same old place
facing south this time
watching Young Chow,
Crystal City's favorite go-go bar,
got a view of the Sev n' it
almost feels like home,
tho at home I never faced
anything but
pink sunsets over row home
horizons, mysterious
red blinking lights of the future,
alleys where American flags hid behind
diorama glass to reflect their image
on our window pane

now I got windows reflecting windows
in the dark condominium night, we're all wondering who can
see in but nobody looks outside
long enough to tell--is it the 28th already?
where have I gone? who can say--?

I can't remember the last place
I rested, how many years ago-- I'll
fall asleep standing up someday,
the Earth'll be my bed
my home
my end.

CNN Drops BOMBS

Two hours into
our CNN trip &
it's like that trash
can nightmare night
of all over again static dreaming
(and what would I do for one coming)

same image on rerun 

is that FOX

beaming

remote control reverse
     sidewalk sameness
     over and over sameness
     paranoia
          will bring us
          together into
governmental pockets
mocking each other
(spying)
hiding our thoughts
drowning the dream
changing the channel

You never paid

There's no parking spots
left in any East Coast town
that even great Neal could
back this baby into--
this current automated society
rear view camera without a clue
how to enjoy
                       the last third
                       of humanity's joke
while kids in Easter egg ties
roll the dice
      on their cellphone device
trolling idiocracy,
planting unoriginal seeds (we survive for you)
in the chat-roulette
of our ancestral souls--

laughing go the cameras
always on record

a crime against the corporate state
is a crime against society
is a crime against you me us we

take your communion at
the ATM alter
suck that green gold down

live forever with eyes seeing eyes

Amen.

At the Corner

You'll give me the time
smile for the ages
rock schism and tumbles
toward sea roaring
south of night serenades,
crickets cling to weathered
screen doors
on far away southern plains
                         of my eyes
I'm aching side-wise
calling out to you
over the noises
you'll never feel
                        above the cigarette
                                        lighter
my apology.

Toast

one last can of beer
it's 1pm on the oval
marker slouch traffic
corridor--meaningless
barricade barrage of
cannon fodder--I'll finish it
up right quick boy--my
material fixation, my
preoccupation on completing
no work--on drowning in
my obscure reality

it's a day of getting warmer
watching the sun dry out
the molten core of the hearts
beating 12 storeys down there--

a toast and all that
and fuck'em but
my spit hits the balcony
instead
and I give up
decide to lay down

break my pencil with
one easy tilt toward the floor.