I Do This I Do That

Walking the city’s downtown streets
and it is Friday and it is night
the Steelheads are playing
and when they finish Old Chicago will fill
with fans and stars so I walk past,
see the fountain at City Hall full of soap again
the Egyptian is celebrating seventy five years
by showing silent films and letting the organ sing
but not feeling like sitting I turn left down Main
dodging hot dog carts, turn right on Sixth
where Trevor at Toad’ stamps my hand
pretending I paid admission,
but first it’s the Cactus which is crowded
and Barb brings orange juice before I order
outside Todd walks by with gutter punks
inside Jessica finds me so now we go
to Nampa with Amber who headlocks and drops
a stranger to the ground for stereotyping my tattoos
back to the car, I drive us to Crickets
where Shanna serves us the stiffest drinks
and as always the orange juice is free.

She Knows

She knows rain
drops alone to earth,
gathers together first as
pancake sized puddles
eventually ankle drowning
gutter strangling swamps.

She can never resist short
lived bodies of water.
Dirty earthed odors cause
toes to squirm against
black stockings, placid
pools catch her eye.

She leaps each time with
the passion of twenty springs
past, sends spray to the sky
soaks hair as she bounces
down potholed streets.

She knows rain doesn’t come often.

Crystal’s Children

Those were the days of chicken headed homeboys
Strutting clucking scratching for gak,
Scraping together enough cash to split a teener between them
Fighting for the attention of platinum pleated hood rats,
Sporting homemade tats crashing hotel parties
Killing fifths of Bacardi, stealing and selling
Forgotten twenty-twos found in shoe
Boxes found in the backs of grandparent’s closets,
Selling smoke from Cadillac trunks
And some grew thinner some grew to understand
Most grew apart.

And these are the days when the world barely pauses
As a six-year old boy pulls out lighter spoon and needle
Demonstrating how he gives his mother daily insulin shots
And shows more than he ever meant to tell.

Around the Time

My talent was tasting
tequila on a Mexican
beach watching waves

My desire lay in the
rain counting drops
drumming on eyelids

My laughter was riding a
pink bicycle in circles
thumb chiming a bell

My curiosity was arrested
in a pet store with two
kittens and a handful of firecrackers

My wisdom was spinning
in a backyard tire swing watching
the sun roll in and out of view

My sorrow was listening
to a field of night noise
guessing crickets from grasshoppers

The rest of me wandered
lonely through the kitchen
waiting for the phone to ring.

7/1/09

Stupid slip-n-slide
Seven foot dead patch in grass
How do I fix this

6/30/09

Sisters are playing
This week they are best of friends
Could change tomorrow

6/29/09

Face feels like melting
shirt dampens, sticks to m back
too cheap for A.C.

6/28/09

Some assembly
needed for this bicycle
Some assembly?

6/27/09

Turn right on Chinden
Turn right on Discovery
Special Olympics

6/26/09

Piss drunk already
Concrete tears elbows and knees
Slipped and I wavered

6/25/09

Blue moon hovering
Oranged embers rise to black
Stars blink above us

6/24/09

Hey look, it's Lola
Jill and Phil are excited
Congratulations

6/23/09

Delicate brown bird
Steals popcorn flits through chain link
Hops back to get more

6/22/09

My pirate monkey
shimmies up to a shoulder
we walk to the park

6/21/09

Attempt reconnect
Tin canned strings stretch across years
Continue to fail

6/20/09

Rainbow cereal
Bright smiles six a.m.
No sleep for daddy

6/19/09

Brown kitchen table
Last night's dirty dishes sit
Green apples turn brown

6/18/09

Arrogant Bastard
Punishes tastebuds with love
Ruination waits

So Real

One eye open one eye closed straining to see

imaginary tree heads supported by tangible trunks

roots ripple through brown earth skin

silent while they stand cracking with age and bask

in the heat of a cosmic bonfire's leaping flames

both eyes open, trees become a dancer supple as a swan

Weary of the dance, a final performance, swan

song leaving the audience unable to see

a golden dying bird burning to ash in its own flames

journey to transformation without ship or steamer trunks

has a lifetime of glory to reflect and bask

while brittle bones shrink and crack under loose skin

Leaving behind first the egg and then the skin,

the cobra sways in trance, body curved like a swan

that cranes its neck to see a rippling reflection and bask

in arrogance, floating near lakeshore it does not see

the two legged predator kneeling hidden between trunks

of maples that in short weeks will appear to be in flames

Repeating sequences, strings of history, Rome went up in flames

America's buzzing hornets with smooth metal skin

stir dust and rattle drums sounding horns like elephant trunks

traveling north to south nuclear winter outruns the swan

blanketing the Earth leaving no eyes to see

and clouding the sky leaning no bodies to bask

Spain once said, go ahead bomb the Basque

hillside green grows to feed flames

destructive presence of blind rage that cannot see

swallows sweet fuel blackening ground marring skin

returning to ugly duckling, no longer beautiful swan

lonely shepherds sit under pines carving stories in trunks

Bald obesity the man spills out of swimming trunks

near the pool here in summer to bake and bask

waddles to the plank, attempts to swan

dive into open pit engulfed in flames

bubbling blistering he rips from his skin

stands naked and humble for his father to see

Elephants float past swans, belly up, bask

trunks of trees jut from a shallow sea

skin cleansed of sin erupts in holy flames

Weary Tombstone Blues

There are days that exist, when the grave begins tugging
On pant legs, and reminders abound that the chilled teeth
Of some nights will leave more than just the body cold. Those
Are nights that Plath’s warm oven answer begins to make sense.

These are the times when an Angelheaded Hellcat blazing a blue
Streak of frenzied chaos, and a Giggling Fountain of Youth whose
Crooked smile holds more laughter than a million mischievous
Monkeys, take time to tug at my tired bones, marching arm in arm
Across the world. Away from the chattering of neon lights melting
Plastic Kens and silicone Barbies, out past manicured neighborhoods
Housing slumbering victims who sit staring blankly at screens,
Glimpsing vacant, make-believe lives far more real than theirs,
Up onto over-traveled highways beat flat long before Dulouz
Became legend, and we have Cash preaching the virtues of walking
The line while the old Chevy hangs on and labors for breath.
Wild eyed adrenaline-fueled rides always ending flat on backs, resting
On grassy hilltops, watching as the unseen hand of God
Tattoos brilliant freckles on the negro flesh of the universe.

These are the nights, lying between two old souls who spill
The unspoken secrets of unknown tomorrows, glossing my eyes
With a fresh coat of paint, keeping tombstones at bay, and Death
From pulling on my coat about an appointment left unkept.

V

Their voices were wild parrots. Diving
chittering narrowly missing the other. Chiding
back only to drown the other.
His was a cannonball. Rumbling
in from a distance bowling through obstacles.
Her's a vanishing mist, there and then gone.
Together they were a hammer and anvil. Dropped.

Why I

Cash and Watt both taught
Sing each song in your own voice
That's why I woodshed

Pantoum

It was the fall of youth, and I was drowning in cider.
Roiling in the riptide were reasons for ending lives
that belly scraped at her feet along with the rest
of a self absorbed humanity cheating at cards and spouses.

Roiling in the riptide were reasons for ending lives.
We tightroped through awkward glances and sweaty palmed silences
of a self absorbed humanity cheating at cards and spouses
celebrating premature divorces and Vegas weddings. Everyone breaks even.

We tightroped through awkward glances and sweaty palmed silences
when finally a fractured union agreed to die out warring in civility
Celebrating premature divorces and Vegas weddings, everyone breaks even
shuddering in an unmarked grave. Danced upon by boots.

When finally a fractured union agreed to die out warring in civility,
she was an olive branch sharp as a spear. I was a wrung neck dove
shuddering in an unmarked grave, danced upon by boots
of her malnourished band of tin can chorus boys.

She was an olive branch sharp as a spear, I was a wrung neck dove
that scraped at her feet along with the rest
of her malnourished band of tin can chorus boys.
It was the fall of youth, and I was drowning inside her

Hooky on a Thursday Afternoon

The little towhead raced his shadow to the end

of the wooden pier. His father,

thin legs and decks shoes, followed and whistled

a tune he’d never heard, noticed

the heat that poured down through salt spray

the dozens of fishermen lining the railings

the pair of pelicans that silently waited for scraps.

The little towhead leaned over and loosed a ball of spit

watched it sail in the wind

join the sea.

The little towhead took his father’s hand

pulled him to the ice cream shack.

Kobenhavn

Just before the hour where the

exhaling sky deepens into darkness

it pauses to match the harbor’s hue,

match but not mirror. No,

the stilled waters have the power to

stretch and pull

lights of waterside taverns

reds yellows and whites

to elongate masts that have slipped

in for the night.

We slip from rented rooms to hear

words we cannot speak raise toasts

to those we’ve just met.

Hush

The young mother watched from the window. Watched as her daughter pumped thin legs to pendulum herself higher into the blue morning. Listened to the small saucer-eyed girl sprinkle waves of giggles across the back yard. Wished she could feel the digging of knobby knees when the child monkeyed onto her lap. Day dreamt again the days just after the crash. Days when her husband held her close, whispered her name. wished her husband home. The door remained shut. That last night he had smiled, told her he was going out. Going out to buy a pair of mockingbirds.

Old News

Big backyard

apple tree

chain link

runs around the edge

house is battleship gray

corner lot

tomato garden

yellow dog

chicken coop

streetlamps at dusk

mayonnaise jar

washed

label stripped

search the dark

chase fireflies

before summer is

gone

We Speak

Meals allow the expression of unspoken,

choice of drinks or hour of repast suggest

where verbs might be bent and nouns omitted

Pinot slacks jaws into relaxed conversations

while saki brings too loud joy to the table

and soda is the prater of carbonated filler.

Beyond this it is salt that does the speaking, creating

a tablecloth of silent agreement. Full wristed shakes

mean hell will be served before desert while

a pinch or two is nothing more than mild annoyance.

I bend the tines of my fork

squint into the bright brunch sun

and she knows what I mean

challange weakly met

Tom flipped over the palm treed postcard. Neon "Wish You Were Here". His wife's laughing script; the little restaurant with the ahi is still here. Hal and I are having the second honeymoon we never did. Wish you were here. That's what he missed, his wife's sense of humor.