poetry

i walk this lonely road the only one that i have ever known

poetry

going down the streets i don’t know
the same way that my fathers have
drunken and beaten and all that mess
all of it just like it is in my mind

any time i’d thank you for a dance
of transcendental nature
any one of you walking this road
any one wandrin’ at any pace

today was a sunshiney beautiful day
the best for beatin’ yourself up with
kickin’ a rock between your steps
the same way that my fathers have

leave the bottle

poetry

do us both a favor
make it easier on you
make it easier on me
because it’s going to be
a long night
and we’re going to be
here for a while
so rather than me
walking over there
and rather than you
walking over here
and rather than us
walking over at all
just leave the bottle
and do us both a favor

Decay (of all sorts)

poetry

My fridge broke
and it reminded me
of my mind.
Not that I have
a broken mind,
just that
all the rotting
food in there looked
so desperately
sad;
the cheese that
was meant for
something
great
and the
soup
that someone
had spent
so
damn
long
cooking.
Even the
milk, in
its $2.20
carton,
was screaming out
for help.
Suddenly I regretted
spending so much
time on Foucault.
I mean, at
least
Chaucer is a
non-perishable.

voiceless, and the guy who wont shut up

poetry

four years ago i sat in this room
with those who will not shape tomorrow
but eternity
they were of different colors
skins, languages, races,
and i found myself honored to be sitting
in their midst

today the same crowd gathers and now i know the man of God who commands thousands in front is also a close talker.
the mover and shaker on my right passes gas incessantly in meetings.
and none of the gentlemen on my left will look you in the eye when you talk to them.

i find myself wondering
am i weird like these?
or simply worthless to the cause for i’m truly without grand defect?
then i remember my overbearing personality
and feel again honored to be in such company

Interactions Based on the fact that nobody really knows nobody ’round these parts

poetry

It may be second-guessing, but I always
tend to wonder when I’m asked to
Dance

D.J. Spinning the same six songs he’s
spun for every hitching since they started
hitching folks those years ago,
and here we are out on the dance floor

Spoken words make way for awkward
silences,
though they’re only really awkward with
our hands around eachother’s waists and
not a piece of common ground to
stand on

except,
of course,
this dance floor

Time and Space

poetry

1

Entered the room; entered his lingering life,
Shelves with comics and baseball trophies,
Photographs taped to walls.

Quiet dust erupted at the weight of a body on the bed;
Springs protested with hoarse creaks;
Action figures stood sentinel.

    Eyes closed
    Images arose;
    Us at eight
    Drawing ‘till late.

    I used his blue
    He took my red;
    We filled the page
    Emptied our heads.

    The TV played
    Midnight shows;
    We were absorbed
    In the floor below.

2

Jesse, I asked the silent room,
When did we lose that world?
Tell me, please.

    Upon, upon the sun-starved ground,
    In the forest that we had found,
    Far from the houses that crowded our thoughts,
    Far from the people who shouted us silent,
    Under the branches that shielded us from God–

I opened my eyes,
To the pale glow of plastic stars
Stuck to the ceiling;
I contemplated constellations.

3

Moved from the bed.
Pulled out a dormant dresser drawer.
Examined a painted shell.
Ran a finger along the teeth of a comb.
Sniffed a bottle of cologne.

    Recall the road five summers ago,
    When we drove to Mexico without a map.
    Like falling leaves desiring the ground,
    We followed any way that led south.
    Once the signs were all in Spanish,
    We turned west seeking the sea.
    Finally arriving at a brown-grey beach,
    We were surprised to find it nearly empty;
    A man struggled to push a cart along the coast,
    A pair of seagulls drifted mournfully just offshore,
    A cold wind swept sand in our eyes.
    Amarillo, he said, pointing.
    I followed his finger to a kite,
    Palpitating above the horizon.

dim light, on still

poetry

is it the black walls
and black carpet and
black floor and black
mold? could it be the
gradual blackening of
my skin,
my organs,
the essentials?
is it the black ceiling,
with the black monsters
that live above us…
or maybe the big(ger)
black ones that live
below? is it all of
these things that suck
my lust from my chest
and the smile from my
face?
i wish i had cleaned
this truth-less place
the first time i’d offered
to,
i’m
beginning
to
mistake
me
for
it.

My Backyard: The Bog

poetry

And the rain came down
Down and Down
Down and Down
And Down.
Down and Down
Down and Down
And Down.
And looking out the window
My countenance falls
Down and Down
Down and Down
And Down.
(catch breath)
Down and Down
Down and Down
And Down.
Until finally I’ve had enough.
To hell with this,
I’m taking a nap.

just like how i’ll stumble through this transition hoping to keep myself together.

poetry

oh these stars align on just the right
days for lunch and days for dinner
dates where we connect and roll through
old memories we managed to drum up about
the times we shared before the bottom fell
out of tune, out of time, out of place, out of
towns through which we’ll roll in three months
time to move beyond these clouds of gray to
perpetual hope in dreams of complex problem
solving issues we didn’t know we needed
to have friends and leadership passed off to
those much more gifted than us take the reigns and
ride full speed ahead as though i wasn’t there
in the first place

Gone to Gypsying

poetry

My brother’s gone to gypsying I
think, but do not fear, as
all is well when he his gypsying,
I’m told, and I can hear it
twixt the twanging strings and
memories made
all around a fire, oh
my brother’s gone to gypsying
and I can only sit and be
inspired

retirement planning at 25

poetry

I expect that you will earn your keep –
that you will bring home the bacon
but not eat it – cause it’s bad for you,
you know?

I expect that you will broaden
your horizons and will make your mistakes and learn from them and learn from
everyone else’s – but still have some fun, because boys
will be boys.

And I expect it’s time for you to be a man – expect you to take on responsibility and
pay your dues – I certainly paid mine.

But I expect you to travel and
jump off cliffs and start saving for your future and try new things and work long hours and get a graduate degree and learn a new language and know your priorities and
live for adventure and keep your blackberry on and spend time with your love…

But definitely, certainly, absolutely, and without an ounce of doubt –
I expect that now is the time to contribute
to your IRA.

for one night only

poetry

we’ll sit around
making joyful sounds,
focusing on our enjoyment,
not the inevitable postponement.
of when we’ll meet again
once again as a friend
and when we’ll once again share
our lives to show that we care,
despite the month that’s gone by
since that time that I dropped by,
and we played video games all night
and just had a small fight,
as a way of saying i love you;
as a way of saying i miss you.