Saturday

Poems to write down

but
life, like it
does
gets in the
way

eight hours
at the
mechanic
no pen or
paper

reading Bukowski,
Hollywood,
life gets
in his
way, too

thinly
veiled
auto-
bio-
graphy,

I found David Lynch
hiding in the
pages,

finished the
novel in
one sitting,
cursed myself
for not bringing
something else

chewed on
some
mono-
sodium
glutamate
sprinkled on
pretzels,

bought it without
seeing the
nutrition info
on back,

patched tire,
new rotors
brakes
battery
added up,

from there to
airport
felicia waiting
in rain,
from there to
eat

storms,
half hour drive,
zero
visibility,

drive back,
park,
unload luggage
in rain,
unpack, shower,

deep breath,
lights out
and promise
to remember
this poem
for later

sleep.

Summer

And thinking of you I realize
often leaves fall up
to trees back & forth paddling
     and fall is backward over mirrored pond
grieving by empty grave
     for my summer nearly
gone and gone are honey bee reflections
     fat and tormenting children,
when I was young they were
everywhere in pink grass
and now like ghosts
     so nearly gone, and
now like us, our flowers
     so nearly gone twisted
round and round and round
so nearly gone

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.