wednes

day

city

watercolor #14

thursday morning railroad dream blues

waking sideways and OUT
up and towards the fine sand of the morning crunching
in my veins rolling down your shoulders and out some opening
forgotten for a number of years
do you remember?
when the streetlights come on
and night moves faster
we run towards something
that usually ends in a sunrise
soft songs from the east,
pitter,
patter,
slip dripping over rooftops and through velvety skin.
these songs,
like sounds,
blanket the world in crisp stillness,
an overactive underachieving smile
when the streetlights come on.
do you remember?
when your baby teeth fall out
and under your pillow
and age becomes dynamic
floating life aside
grasping at shoestrings and turning life into dreams
and non-committal statements in April,
vague comments about dreams,
seem almost tangible in the sweet spring rain.
waking again this time down
and out of bed to send two feet and two shoes down to the city below
the valleys of limestone and brick fastened with rusted metal
and green brown piles of life and refuse
where someone used to dream of making it
OUT
and i move in
to meet you halfway
somewhere where the pavement smacks of metal
and the sidewalk is losing to the tree
somewhere where the color is older than me
and the car is younger than you
there we meet
......

like when i first smelled you...

Like when I first smelled you.
It was spring,
Late,
I was brown.

I wonder, my love,
When time stopped.
When I became too unlike myself
To breathe.
I wonder, sometimes,
When I slipped,
When I fell sideways into glass
Into trees stripped of glory
And littered sand.
When I danced clumsily
Around my me and your you
Not looking, not seeing the place
I began.
I can’t say, this place is to constricting,
This sound is too unnerving.
I have told myself too often
I have nothing to say.

Me, still, boy, tired, alive,
Waiting.


I wonder in this grain induced stillness
This distilled lively timeless
This sloppy loveless endless
This dreamy punchy endness.

I’ve got words, you see, plenty of them,
Words for Tuesday,
Words for you to say,
So opaque I feel like scratching.

Like a hen,
Maybe,
Like a scab,
Yeah,
Like now,
Turning it out.
This is too abstract to come to anything,
Description losing itself
In the light of morning.
I’m going to continue.
Like a quilt, like this and that rolled into one.

When will I learn something new?
Why do I still sing into emptiness?
Why do I bother with questions
I’ve been asking since before you remember?

It’s the same story, inside,
Dance, sing,
Outside, laugh, drink.
Ahh the time, the basic mess of it all.
The now in my me.

And there’s always more.

something from the year 2005...

part 2

"sea nymphs limp placidly across vacant dreams",
a song some refuse to sing...
a word you might play,
strung across your time.
bending coils snap at our backs,
just as regret
is a forgettable four letter word.
bipolar instant- each side collects words for old ears.
and you smile like god is on your side,
like the secret in your pipe is as good as mine.
who am i to ask this question,
water rising higher along my shins,
bearing around the break in the bent window behind,
like a thousand untouched waterfalls
silently carving my space.
what is the question to be asked?
is grey really a color?
did you see my heart?

in all late siberian skies
never have i heard such a sigh.

i am no sunshine today.
and you,
with that rattling laugh,
red tugging at the corners of your throat-
forgive the heavy sky ceiling,
and the blue tones of green.
remember to touch what is around you,
to look beyond the cracked leaves,
and the asphalt over the creek...

i leave it up to you.
to answer the question.

i leave.

limpid drops of cold water

silver and soft i wait
turning this way and that
listening listlessly for a moment
when being becomes stretched like dried fruits
and skins
and sticks
over dusty rocks and under gossamer skies