Oh darlin’
there’s that song again
and we missed it
the last time and
this station only comes though
every so often on
this stretch of byway
and the signal’s strong,
too, so if you could
reach over and turn it
up, I’ll slow down a bit
so the speakers keep pumpin’
and we’ll see if we can’t
at least make it to the
chorus before it

For Tara. 
Always.

I heard the ice cream truck
for the first time since October
Today.
The birds are blasting past my window
Claiming this sky
as theirs
Not mine
Little do they know I too
can sometimes fly.
Like today
when I heard the ice cream truck
for the first time.
And wondered if the wind wasn’t built
for the wind chimes
And the sun doesn’t shine
just to reflect off your eyes. You
dandelion.
I’ve been seeing you in
everything.
It’s like ice fishing
Naked
Without a pole
Diving into the freezing ocean
And gasping for breath at the hole
I thought you were all water
and I was all cold. No,
we are both
one huge expanse of ice
And isn’t it nice
to be part of something so clear
So close to glass, but
so much more alive. Like
the freezing ocean
you take my breath away

every time.

Every year, when I grow older

I draw a breath

exhale a wish,

locking it away for safe keeping.

any time I witness a star dying,

burning up as it streaks across the sky

as quick as the brief streak

my mind goes to one thing

always a secret.

but now that you’re here

I speak that secret

let it be said for the first time,

fall from my lips,

as I call for your lips.

Goddamnit, sirens,
I’m already at my teeth
in overwhelmed hysteria,
my heart nearly poundin’
out. It is One Thirty Six in the Morn,
and I’m tryin’ my damndest
to get my shit together and
not have a mental break-
down and maybe even sleep,
and all you do is continue to Zoom!
past my house with your stupid
wailing banshee shit and keep me
from having a moment’s peace,
for chrissake. Jesus
I need a dose of yoga.

These lives of yours,
intangible ghosts,
much like the summer was
to Escher

No color to dictate
season, nor ice nor
snow nor falling leaves
as if the summer
always was

these lives, though,
are the dossier of a fool:
and at least Escher’s,
when jammed together,
fit right.

and i’ll give you my right arm
for a slice of fried chicken
wrapped in a tortilla and downright
delicious.
but as i’m offering it
i’m finding it increasingly unlikely
my right arm will help you purchase
chicken of any variety…
let alone fried.

my left leg on the other hand [sic]….

francis was whacked today.

i lost a toy i’ve loved since
childhood. a small green frog
stuffed with sand given to me
by a friend in sixth grade as
i walked out the door to move
a lifetime away and return much
too late for our friendship
to remain. i miss that toy
and the memories it’s always
represented, but that seems so
trivial now. as

francis was whacked today.

For T.

It was one thirty
and I had just become sidewalk
You were walking away
and the pavement and I became
equally unable to move

I should have chased after you

Instead
I went to my bed
And wrote myself a note
which I sewed inside my pillow
It said

Do not ever
let her go.

I wouldn’t be here, fumbling my way through the dark, over-crowded rooms and the sickly, slimy basements searching for the door with calloused fingers; I wouldn’t be in this cave, hiding and hoping for others to miss what I’d done; I wouldn’t drag, head-to-floor slowly, scathingly, begrudgingly through this supposed gateway to Paradise; I wouldn’t be trapped among the dead bodies, barely up-right; I wouldn’t be filling my cup at every empty oasis which offers even the slightest mirage of saturation. If not for you I wouldn’t be stuck staring into a blank wall that surely must bear your image; I wouldn’t look around every corner with my heart all a-flutter thinking to see you waiting there; I wouldn’t rejoice at the melting snow, convinced it promises your return; I wouldn’t imagine your heavy hand upon my shoulder when I need you most; I wouldn’t hold your relics close while all others are gone nor dance with your shadow. I’d steer clear of the sadists and their Opiate Swells and their cold fingers and their dirty hair; I wouldn’t nearer myself to those undeservings who flee from my good graces, would not identify with their self-loathing, their regression, their silence. And if not for you I wouldn’t have known otherwise.

Rain come to hail
and a long way back
and no ride on the way
and a bit lip
and a grin and
a bear
and step after step
before home
and that’s it
and thank goodness
there’s that
at least

Looking out over the city,
my small, quiet, little city,
I see the lights atwinkle,
I see everything I never saw.
the cathedral sits,
squat and menacing,
it casts it’s watchful glare.
st. michael’s sword stretches
from father ryan on into the water,
protecting us from those on the other side.
My city is guarded.
My city is safe.
My city is mine.

God give me the strength to
open my mouth when necessary
speak truth when needed
and to seal my lips when
i’m dying to speak but it’s anything
but useful.
and the wisdom to know the difference

(five more days
till the weekend)
as a kid i hated mondays
weeks dragged on for
years and weekends passed
in minutes.

school was perpetual
boredom with fascinating
social interaction for
minutes at breaks
recesses, and lunch times.

i’d do it again just to watch
who would sit with who. to understand why
baxter was the most popular
boy in sixth grade just because
he had hit puberty a full two years
earlier than the rest of us.

school was perpetual
boredom with fascinating
social interaction every day
i “forgot” my homework.
teachers watching students defy
authority.

student government….
(probably doesn’t deserve
a line of note)

i’d do it again just to watch.

now (five more days
till the weekend)
and my only fear is not being
bored enough this week.

For T.

All of this light

seems to be coming
right from the inside of the moon
and reflecting off you. And I
have for such a long time
been the horizon. I still
never knew

I could feel this bright.

His throat gives way
sometimes
and he is struck by fits of
screaming

And I in my cap
and jacket
am more than happy
to walk away

It’s not so windy,
really.

For T.

Maybe
You’re the eye
And I’m the storm.
Or
I’m the mountain
And you’re the peek,
It snow mater.

Right now
It’s 50 degrees out
At night, and
In winter.

The moon is shining brighter than I’ve ever seen
And you say I’ve just made you smile.
If anything exists outside of this
Right now

I don’t need to know.

general examples
compromise
especially from the past
with civil religion
existentialism
lobotomized historically
pruned
lost in its absolutes when it was
sentimentalized

in balding i’ve found myself
at midlife crisis wondering
when and where i’ll find a hat
which will cover my head
shield the sun
and make me look like a
non-jackass

I wish I’d seen your broken fingers
and stopped to ask if you needed help
but you never seemed to and I don’t
think you wanted any anyway

It’s not like I had an extra hand
that you could borrow but at least
I could have helped with a little more
of the heavy lifting than I did

I still have a copy of that note
in a spiral-bound music book on
the page to a tune I memorized
years and years and years ago

I guess I never see it much
anymore but I know it’s there
and I memorized your note too
so it all works out really

If I wrote a note for you I’m
sure it would say the same
sort of thing but the script
would certainly not stand up

Even with those broken fingers
you always did draw the most
fantastic block letters.

there’s that theme that plays and
every time I hear it I never think
of Lester. Lester’s been gone a long
time. Lester’s not even a ghost to a
memory. Lester never talked to me about
anything worth talking about. Lester
did what he was gonna and that’s that.
You did the same thing but I wish
that wasn’t that so much. You ain’t
no antique jazz musician. But you
oughta be. And if I could I’d give
that theme to you. I can’t do that
though. But I’ll play it for you.
Every time.