I can’t for the life of me
remember your name but I’ll
write it down this time, I
think, and maybe then I’ll
at least have a concept, or
more likely I’ll just shuffle
that business card to the
bottom of a junk drawer or
a pile of ‘important papers’
on my desk. Who’s kidding who?
We’ll never know each-other at
this rate.
If I smile too much sometimes
it’s only to make you happy/
angry/
calm/
annoyed or
generally emotional
If I smile just enough then
I’m doing it
right
It was a sudden act that brought you here,
I’m sure,
laid out so tidy with
your hair done right
and they got the clothes good, too
It’s an interesting place to spend a night,
all boxed up like that
and everyone in the other room
trying real hard to
have a good time
You’d love that the booze was free
and they got two of your favorite things
and all the acoutrimahhh to boot
and they did it, man.
With a few gospel tunes just for
added support,
and a couple old audio tracks with
your name on ‘em,
they did it.
They could have used your help,
though.
I find all the simple things
that make the more impressive things
and I ask around until I
get them all smashed together
just right
and I
don’t speak more than English
though I find the Russian tongue to be absolutely
captivating
I call ahead some nights
and I check availability and I
place an order so I don’t stand
in lines so long and I
stop for supplies on my
planned-out excursion in to
whatever
Most nights though I’m
out of town with just enough
to make it back no problems
and I left my coat and I
don’t have money for oil and
I think my car needs some
but the trip
is the whole point, I think
and even this way
(Especially this way)
I get right directly over to
whatever
(I laugh more most nights)
Each breath you steal floating off
like the Angels come to take your soul away
and goosebumps on your bare arms and
a shiver, but only just
crusted cars wander by aimless-like
no people you can see driving them
everything alright on their end
you are invisible
you’ve got a fair three miles
two hours with no stops, tops
and an emergency blanket to wrap
yourself in, and your tennis shoes are
soaked already
Keep stealing breaths, though.
You won’t be invisible for long.
Someone will come for you.
Even if it’s the Angels.
And I in my dinosaur-print blanket
and you in your po-jammas
while the gentleman down the road
wanders in a fleece-lined coat
The roads are clear and so
is the sky, with that moon so
nearly blinding me it’s
a wonder I can see straight
But straight in to bed I go
and fantastically. And beautifully.
I have no cause to hate my
home.
But all these things are wonder
ous and all of them are more
than what is base and stock and
that’s a pretty great thing,
too.
And all this fresh air is
perfect.
Do you remember when
we went to see that film
those years ago
at the theater
on the nice side of town?
The tickets were more
expensive, but the seats
were really comfortable
there in Auditorium Six
and even though we got there
fifteen minutes late
(we even skipped the ad reel)
we hadn’t missed a thing
The heckling never started
’til the both of us were
comfortable and languishing
chewing popcorn loudly
feet kicked up on chairs
Remember how the rest of
the house laughed with us?
Those were simpler times,
I am apt to believe.
Now,
I think, everyone is laughing
still,
but maybe they’re
laughing at us
I still don’t think we should
stop
I am glad
that you have broken your back on me.
I watch you fall limp
and I drag your feet
and I am glad.
Perhaps I am a
horrible person. Perhaps.
At least I’m better than you.
Celestial bodies crash unyielding
in to one another
and throw sparks
,debris
,molten crust
,and everyone on either
stone or asteroid or moon or
planet, dies.
So far our stone has gone
relatively unmolested
in the grand scheme of things.
But it’s rash is growing.
But we’ll kill ourselves
eventually.
Or Neptune will take care of it.
There is a certain feeling
when the wind picks up
for just a moment
and the thermometer reads
just so
and even though it’s dark
and cloudy you
can still see half the sky
and it is particular
but just for a moment and
there, it’s gone
again
Every muscle you own is giving
out and especially the ones
that keep your back straight and
especially the ones that stop
your neck from sagging side-wise
and if I could help you I would
but I have enough on my plate as
it is without installing supports
for your own lack of fortitude
but Lowes is running a decent sale
on mounting hardware so maybe
you should go give them a try.
I’ve been counting the cuts and scratches that I have
collected over the last several weeks and I
have come to the rather unsettling conclusion that
if all of them had happened at once I would have
bled completely out and died in just about
fourteen minutes, which seems like enough time
to do something constructive about that sort of thing
but even fast moving wouldn’t be enough to stop
them all from leaking so I’m glad at least that
these overall singularly insignificant personal
injuries are slow-to-come and that if they don’t
heal quickly at least the band-aids usually stop the
bleeding.
I reached in
and pulled out
a throbbing pink heart
and it was
delectable,
I’m sure.
I tucked it away
in a shipping
container
and hid it for years
on the top shelf
of my bookshelf.
It beats from
time to time but I
ignore it,
mostly.
Sometimes,
though,
I pull it down and I
take a peek
and I count the
beats
and smell the
putrid smell
Then I wonder
what ever happened.
Then I wonder
where you’ve gone.
He found a small pulley system
to keep his eyes from closing
in the back of a magazine
(it was an old-fashioned mail-
away deal)
He attached them post-haste
and, as far as he could tell,
never slept again his whole
long life.
His teeth chatter sometimes
and he coughs a great deal,
enough to make his tight wight
skin on his neck stretch so
it might snap
He hears voices now, too
that he never heard before
(though there’s no proof
they weren’t there all along)
and that puts him off a bit.
But when he starts in to screaming
at the top of his lungs
at shadows in basements or
dark bricks walls, he dies.
Just a little.
He tried to take the pulleys off
but the ropes have come too tangled.
He can not cut them, either.
His scissors always seem to break.
for the years passed by
and the miles traveled
(even there and back again)
and the broken strings
and the flat tires
for the banged knuckles
and all the scraped knees
or the dog barking late
(I still miss letting him in,
sometimes)
and the corner store,
(used to be right next to
the card shop there)
I’ll pour one out, I think.
For the years and miles,
at least,
I’ll take a drink
It was a flash in the mist
that brought me in to the rain.
Now I am sopping wet
but I am vigilant.
Now at least
my eyes are open.
The camera is recording,
too.
Teeth cut deep to soul
not to flesh
I am unaware
The lights are running past
I know one thing
I hear air escaping
And now unstrapped
And now upright
The air escapes again
There is more this time
Louder
The brakes catch all at once
A sudden jerk
No one is moving
Everyone is moved
The air sucks back in I think
The lights are running past
and again
I think
I am unaware
I lose track of things sometimes when I’m wandering
but my nails are rather long, I’m cognizant of that
and I feel the old break in my right ankle sort of
flaring up again. It’s not so bad though. It healed
all right the first time.
It’s a long list of even steps and then one suddenly
splashes through a hole that looked just like another
slick of ice, but my feet are fast, and while my cuff
is soaked, the shoes are barely even damp. Really, It’s
just fine, I promise.
The wind picks up every now and again and I consider
buttoning my long jacket back up, but I know the wind
will put back down and then I’ll be too hot again and
then where would I be, but the same place I was at
about twenty minutes ago?
Except I won’t be. I’ll be a little bit further down
the road, and a little bit wetter from the knee down,
and a little bit sorer from the right ankle over, and
just too hot instead of just too cold. It’s not the
same at all, really.
Now where was I? And where was I, anyway? I lose track
of things sometimes.
When I’m wandering.
There is a switch in the back
of a drug-addled mind, I think,
that sets it to barking and
it’s claws come out sometimes
to reach to try to maim but
addled with drugs they tend
to miss their target most times.
The switch is tiny and difficult
to find even by experts with
technical diagrams and
nimble fingers, but when it
is flipped, one can plan a short
night for everybody, I think.
And they make no mention of it,
not in this diagram book anyway,
but these drug-addled minds
always set to barking at giants.
Surprising they don’t need more
maintenance than they do already.
Well, unfortunate, really.
Order up
come all the way from china
Music in a little wood box
with a lock on front
and no way to play it
(Key cost extra)
Good music though
they said
when fella picked it up
from the retail outlet
carried them
Fella took his word for it
didn’t buy a key though
so it’s closed up
on his kitchen table
sits next to unopened mail
an old comic book collection
a stack of magazines from ’93
getting older with the rest
Hopefully it keeps
It’s a quiet somber feeling
of safety and security behind
miles of red tape and
piles of paperwork, and
even when the rest of the world
is on fire and screaming,
Here in our little fort
with the shades drawn and
the locks done up,
everything will be alright,
you promise.
And on the subject of hands his
strangled a man once to death,
and on the subject of dogs his
has had a throat or two I’m sure.
That doesn’t stop him from laughing,
though, once in a while. It doesn’t
stop him from being real and flesh
and fragile like the rest of us.
He just killed a man, is all.
And ol’ Fido ate well that night,
I’m certain.
Fought tooth and claw for
a few bits of
scrap meat
and that dog is still
starved.
And now he’s
bleeding,
too.
And now he’s laying down
with that rasp
in his breath
again.
And he’ll get up
to fight
tomorrow.
Clock runs whether you want it to or not and I’ll
smile while it ticks and I’ll grin while it clicks
and I can hang forever, strong as these hands are
so I wouldn’t get too many bright ideas, yeah?
Snowdrifts are old hat, ice is just a challenge,
cold-starting amps this beater’s got for days
and the sun comes out sometimes to help anyway,
and the trucks do their part too, now and again
there’s always change to scrape when scraping’s
on the order, and I haven’t found it yet but I
know there’s an easier way to book a nice evening
so I’ll keep my ear to the ground ’til it shows
And I guess you can drive your 22 hours down yon
every now and then and just to see what shakes
what but I’ll tell you, there’s not much for it.
Strong as these hands are, I can hang and cows
come home.
This man cuts delicately
and with purpose
This man has an art to him
and a sight in his eyes
His is a gentle way,
but a righteous way,
but he loses track
sometimes
We have begun counting
his steps down the stairs
We have tallied his
transgressions
He has two ticks on the board,
but the first is smeared a bit
It has been up too long to
remember where it’s counted from.
He smiles mostly these days,
and grips the banister loosely
He cuts with purpose.
He stays mostly on track.
He has two ticks
nonetheless.
I met you
in the parking lot
between the county court
and the CVS Pharmacy
I did not buy your wares.
I did not look you in the eye.
Your coat was torn
but I did not offer you
mine.
I did not hear your sales
pitch or read your
convincing literature.
And now you’re off again
to find another buyer.
Good Luck.
I can’t seem to feel my extem
ities as well as I once
had
but
that’s a matter of conj
ecture
For a moment I was fal
ling and for a moment I
was due to dro
p
and it was going to
hurt
I’m cert
ain
I was caught, though, la
st minute by the
belt by you and you said
you never were rea
lly letting
go
But for a mome
nt I
felt like I was
falling
Ten dollar gas can
Three dollar gas
Two block stroll
there, two block
back again
open door, uncap
stick in snoot
pour through the
long pause
remove, recap,
can in trunk
turn over once
sputter to death
turn over once
more
sputter to life
brake, shift
park neutral drive
gas, drive
and home and
sleep,
I suppose.
Play summoner
with brass horn, with
steel string and pickup
Make dark the room
while ghosts come
through, while soul simmers
Locks on windows and
the clock set fast so
it’s on time when it
moves again
Things are too short to settle for.
Things are too long to settle, too.
Ghosts come through and
quiet, for to not disturb
the summoner played
Time is arbitration
timing, arbitrary
There’s fire in all of it,
though,
sprouting from the devil-box
and bursting from the big
brass bell
And it would bring you to tears
while the ghosts come through,
and now you’ve lost yourself,
and that’s just fine, because
here we are again.
A man crashed his car in to a viaduct
with fervor and purpose.
He died instantly, but his
viaduct still stands, still holds up
the things it’s meant to
His car was totaled in the paperwork
but a junkyard man will
make that old car right again
and sell it off new-used, no
question.
His mother is screaming and
his daughter does not get
the concept of not having
a ride to school or a bedtime story
or a father, in fact.
At least they get the money, though,
from that big fat half-mil term-life.
And at least he got to go out big
before he had to collect his pension.
Not that there’d be anything for him,
anyway.
