The Poem

into the morning
     a gleam of rising run
listening to disparate lines
     alone
          in the spotlight
a monitor light bleeds
     on the stage
a rhythm of breathing bodies
          the humming metallic lung of cars
     their dreaming
moves along bedroom walls
          into the horizon
that lingers on the periphery
          of thrift store landscapes
     the life of anonymous painters
retching on spoiled bits
   of rotted fame

Presumably, too divine

vague skies
haven't much to say
after the snow has fallen,
after the plows, away,
throw salt down and move on,
chased by low temperatures
in the night, useless,
on the black-top streets
slick with black ice,
to bridges buried in white,
current slowed
under thick sheets, the
mighty Potomac sleeps
and in her swampy city
beyond, sat in still-life
standstill, the weight
of winter, icy gears groan,
traffic ground to halt,
empty office, workaday fears,
impending doom of
forgotten lunch hours, bi-
weekly pay checks, bored,
for hours move on, and
pre-paid, the clean-up,
go-around, an obstacle for the
production mind to
assuage.

Snow Fire

charred remains
of neighborhood
I knew, up the hill
there was a church,
steeple seen through
top of trees from road
below, now only cinders
blackened debris at our
feet, yet snow falls and
is hot to touch, I have
no shoes, tip-toe around
silent gravestones, find
a path amidst altered state,
the houses around continue
to burn, do not break, just
burn, I keep my head down,
watch my feet, step into flame.

Sad Snow

I catch the first flurry
with my window gaze
past the table of girls
who bought their own coffee
past the single man counting
his tip,
the first snow flake
birthplace of winter storm
winter storm respite from
chained existence, from nothingness,
I think about the walk home
in snowglobed virginia
stomach full, warm, free,
the cooks bell rings,
next order up, I wonder if it's me--
I'm sorry I left you for this,
to eat alone, you'd already cooked
my eggs so lovingly--I'm always letting
someone down,
unlike the snow
unlike this snow,
it's never saddened.

Pen's drawings snow

snow melts on my cheeks
as I walk 19th
looking nordic
alaskan, canadian, visigoth,
cold, pea-coat collar up,
bandanna tied 'round neck,
reflected in store windows,
store door reflections,
hair spotted with white,
beard speckled with cold
melting flakes,

alive.

Went out to buy a pen. Can't 
believe I'm without one. 
Too much. toomuch. Too many.
buy a pack. Papermate. 
3 bucks? But forget it. 8eightpack.
(?). They write. is all. Enough.
is enough.

Stuffed in my bag,
head out into the snow
become ancient again
fell my face stiffen again,
Stare out into the clouds
listen to my boots
the steps
remember the poem
figure out the lines
looking cold american
east coast yankee
watching the clouds
watch back.

This Winter is brought to you by the letters H.A.A.R.P

Freeze the East Coast
wet snow winter frozen hell
drowning pounded individually name-tagged
terror storms attention grabbing hordes--

drought the rest
thirsty starving high-
temperatures ignored
crops brittle colorless
crippled crumbling dry
dried out--

hurricanes whipping
earthquake-shock crisis
radiation pours into Pacific
Caribbean mudslide ruined (except
resort heavens) East Coast find it
hard to concentrate
buried in snow
a television broadcast disaster
series in 365 parts--

this could be a movie, ya know?

H.A.A.R.P.

Stokes (Car tires screeching in the icy snow)

car tires screeching in the icy
snow covered roads below my window
remind me of delivering papers
with my father in the old Grand Marque
with no traction stuck in that drive way
for hours can't push up
and the owner is out there digging away
for us and pushing, and finally we gunned it
and struggled to the top, waving good-bye
and him sweating and waving too until
we were back down at the bottom with
him again having failed to take the hill,
shit piss this is getting old, 3 hours behind
schedule and we were throwing papers
that disappeared into 2 feet of snow anyway,
no use, never to be read, one last push
and burnt rubber winter snow smell,
finally breaking the trenchline and
on our way,
only to realize when sliding down
the other side of the hill that neither of us
had gotten out to help the poor guy,
we had just sat in the car and watched him
hack and slash away,
man,
we had good laugh out of that,
and no Christmas tip,
I'm sure.

Sleepy

She tried to relate her
dreams to me still half asleep,
still more in than out, something
about a conference and high school
classmates, always dreaming with
the same cast, not sure why, but it's
no use her words are staggered,
stuttering and she's wondering if she's
coherent (not) while it snows
outside and the afternoon
gives way to night and gray slush,
her voice fading out, breathing
growing longer, heavier, I felt her
chest drop, grow warmer,
surrendering--

Storm drains

Red marks the winter storm

warning, we gotta castrate that

mass of swirling cloud mass 

too, or vilify it, or worse personify it,

color code it, cause a storm

never settled over the northeast

or dropped three feet o'snow,

like the blizzard of '93 never happened

cause it happened in '93 and that's 

too long ago for any sane american

to remember and who wants to when the

color coded danger spikes and blips

on radar screens and chirps in our ear

the 15 day forecast 90% chance of 

seeing weather news on weatherchannel.com

real world real life real science meteorological

nightmare scenarios broadcast on every street

corner camera shot we can get, can you 

believe it's raining? Really raining?

can you believe it's never done this before?

why's that drive called crystal clear sky?

i wonder if starbug
can handle the coming
storm, all alone down
there on that side street
parallel to route 1,
snow prepared to drop
whatever inches on
whatever lands, empty lot
free parking, half mile
away, i can't help but see the curve
of the road out my window,
i'm already planning diner
coffee tomorrow, 5 inches
is enough, i'll tell ya, 5 inches
7am rush hour winter weather
alert, advisory, watch, warning
i walked along the banks of the
pavement stream, the contrails
fading out, the blue skies aren't usual
i don't think before snowstorm clouds,
i'm used to white dull foreboding
emptiness, i hope i'm not
plowed in tomorrow

untitled

Away from me you'll fly,
like this title,
like my life, into the void,
I have seen it happen,
watch it happen now
as snow sluggish, marches on
white city from white distances
in the west, I have carried a candle
for you, burning wax off my fingertips,
dry, I have seen how this ends,
and it's so silly, it's so inevitable,
away from me, I'll die.

Christmas Card

Parked up next to
empty lot snowy mix
falling, gray sky spinning
halos of white about our heads,
seems like winter now,
or Christmas or both,
if I had time to consider
it, but december is here,
I missed the last few months
the last few years,
all washed out in white.

Snow Day

They'll protect us from the
rain by locking each and every roof
exit protect the stars too
and the lonely sky while they're at it
cause we're dangerously dangerous
if we go on thinking what's that
above our shrinking heads
not on the mud and green
ground that sucks at our feet--like
let's go about blaming invisible things
for why we're stuck on this never
ending circle why don't we?-- we'll never be able to
prove it's a circle with our own
little blue teary 100-year-eyes and mist--
it's human like in the gray rain of rainy
forecasts that are so damned wrong but always
trusted--oh, hell I mean where else can
a guy go for this kinda insight and it's no-
where but a day off from work --
or wage slavery or sold into wage soulless
drudgery--or sleeping indoors,
or whatever--
yeah, I've said more than I care to understand
or prove but, well, I'd like to think
I rambled my way to another 24 hour
let down
and an unmade bed.

Now

Does it snow in South America?
outside our windows white
and snowball coated meetings
dug deep into the hard cold soil
bugless sleeping
under the mountains
asking,

maybe

SNOW

I haven't abandoned you,

a bitter winter, and I'm
Knee deep in a misplaced tundra,
snowflakes gnaw at my fingers,
the coarse wood and cold metal
of an old shovel, it's true
we've all seen better days,

But when were they?--

you remember? and I--?
I won't forget you
when the snow melts
the streets are dry
and the squirrels come out of hiding.

Triumph in December

I've ignored you
sweating warm neglect
in the freezing winds,

it's December
and everything is blank whiteness
dying, renewed;

There are wolves in the forest
passing by, and silent
ancient reliefs from petty stone,
a hoax, a skeptic, a pleasure
and you unspoken,
unwritten,
at home.