Fur

between my eyes and sewer grate

from one life to another the time debt of years apart

the sphere of birth and death;

I am

willed along

through these

spaces

with no say

leaving many hands behind

like

typing fingers in the dark

one key off; 

some sense of unrequited something

some sense of
bitterness;

loss

untitled

This will remain untitled
for you--a recording
of absurd references to
nothing-- lost in the hands of the
blazing caterers of the
stars who carry universal name plates of
hot roast beef torment to all scattered
distances, who exist only so
that we can never

know--

where we're going

or--

where we're ending.

Sweet Some Losses

And the bitter nectar
of golden flowers
flakes in your hair,
binding us
to winds unchanging,
gesturing north
an equivocal compass,
a dimmed star,
following behind,
resplendent,
a liar quoting truth
collecting belief
arranging them in clever patterns
to be spun again.

And Jesus says...

We turn slower than before
knowing remembering
what we saw, what we heard,
you are reading this
in wonder, it is a poem,
it is meant to grasp at some greater meaning
some silver lining, some pretentious
universal truth,
we are all erudite fools,
words meaning nothing
deeds meaning less,
we are born we grow we shrink we die
the universe laughs
the insects chew on us
recycle our eyes our hearts our lungs
our memory our triumphs our failures our life
and the meek shall inherit the earth

Time of Death: Tuesday, October 20, 2009; 2:00pm

I had already taken those steps,
sat idle on turning wheels
and gliding rails
walked steps through streets of urban decay
and into the light of walled academia,
before I heard the news
listened to the voice
read the pain in those words, still
There was nothing else to do
but move on

Good Bye, for my Grandmother and Mother

Time is near its end
a hard orange brown light
and my mother by her side,
I have barely known her,
always on the periphery,
outside, strong
hard, unyielding
inapproachable,

now the light clings
to empty glasses,
frozen mirrors,
reflections of a life
soon to pass;
clustered on the walls,
clinging to the furniture
of a single room

a heaviness
weighing on us all,
my mother holds her hand,
dried tears, but through the fog
I can hear her crying,
them crying, together crying,
playing years like movies
before their eyes,
changing, interpreting
in the end there is no bad,
there is only good,
time memory hello good bye

I say good bye to her
a woman I never knew
will never know,
wishing I could have known,
standing walking running
the rain beats down on our heads
we don't lift our eyes,
time stops for but a moment
yet we miss it,
saying good night
to my grandmother.

My Friend

The sweet wine,
neck of the bottle between
my fingers, crystals
of ice, slowly dying
circles below my wrist,

A drowsy morning night,
coming to its end,
Jimi Hendrix
bleeds in and out behind me,
he is dying, like the ice
he is always dying,

And you are there,
almost my friend
There, here, gone
to war, to fighting,
to dying,

I drift in and out of consciousness,
his guitar calling me back
for another sip, the warm morning light
acting a play performed by swirling
beads of water,
when the night begins
it is already at its end,

Jimi Hendrix,
me,
you,
my friend.