05-31 From here.

From where I sat,
the piano,
playfully spilling down the cobbled streets,
caught me listening,
for an hour and half,
while the sun dipped low,
into the gold and orange,
apparently, listening, as well.

5-30 This is Alone

This is Alone.
I muse to myself.
As I walk,
bending my head,
to pay homage,
to the crooked,
sylvan god,
of my evening,
vegetarian chocolate,
weighing heavily,
in my sweatshirt,
heels sore,
clicking on the cement,
one by one,
they have spun out of my circle,
and laughing,
made their goodbye,
while the fire eaters
be-bopped,
and our generation,
struggles
to sell their wares,
glimpses of our future,
caught in the glint and glitter,
of the trash re-imagined,
these were mine own,
these musings,
groups swirled,
and flowed around me,
but I stood out,
tall,
alone,
but this is how,
I have come to know myself,
tiger in the grass,
moon above my shoulder,
alone.

5-29 19

It would be easier if you were 18,
and I was 19,
and I didn't have to navigate
a path,
through the minefields you built,
so carefully over the years.

It would be easier.

I can't see like I used to,
and now my hands are starting to bleed,
as I search for breaks along the barbed wire,
I have to wonder should I stop looking?

Behind me, are fields of star thistle,
and dried out sunflower stalks,
Did I plant them or did you?
Or did he?

Wind brings the empty hollow of dirt,
dry, crumbling,
an august in the valley,

the paling blue sky,
brings rain,
I need it to wash my hands,
I need it,
like
for those brief few seconds,
I needed to know you were there,
those were my seconds,
those were mine,
and I regret not telling you,
but it didn't seem to matter,
and now...

Why am I here? In this field?
Just tell me.
Please.
I'm not 19 anymore.

5-28 Full Day

All I wanted was to listen to the rain,

but the houses crowd to close,

and the room smells of charcoal and paint,

too much whiskey and conversation,

toss and turn next to me in bed,

and the rain,

is for someone,

else tonight,

someone with cedar planked ceiling.

5-27 Where I Say Something Blatant

I push you out.
This is a, goodbye,
but that's okay,
I understand,
the difference now.

5-26 Followed

The rain followed us,
from the sky at first,
and then,
sat next to me in the car,
even though I switched seats,
it continued to fall,
tapping on my shoulder,
dripping in my ear,
drowning out the sound of the sunshine,
I had brought,
from a conversation previous,
I grumbled,
remembering,
affirming a frustration,
this takes time,
old friend of mine,
sit there if you want too,
I ignored it the best I could,
and hung out at the fire,
till giving up, and hiding in my sleep instead.

5-25 That Tatoo

Familiar tatoo,
on the right of the shoulder,
speck of distraction,
forming dendritic drainage,
clicking away,
at my looking,
at my listening,
halting at my unpolished flip-flops.

5-24 At Least We Got Through It Together

I got the feeling that this might be a bad poem.
Perhaps it was the traffic,
or trying to find Sandy,
navigating the lights,
making a turn,
and I can't park there,
while trying to explain why I understood,
but also refused to accept,
where I stood in her priority list,
as my passenger,
and reader,
it must have been frustrating,
to watch me casually brick, by brick,
throw them at you
while also trying to buy chocolates.

05-23 Haunted

I've felt this rain before.

I've felt this rain before,
like a passing cold whisper,
that brushes my lips,
in a crowded train station,
surrounded by uniforms,
decked in green and grey,
slipping like shadows between the cracks,
and creases of our brims,
in windows reflecting nothing,
but a few lines,
and a shift,
in the way our feet,
hesitate,
on the platform.

I've felt this rain before.

I want to turn around.
But I stop.
Your hand on my shoulder.
I stop.
In the rain,
coming down,
I don't look,
can, not, look,
behind,
and not see you there,
in this rain,

will you always follow me?

I know this rain.
Please.
Let me,
turn around,
Let me,
turn around,
Let me,
hand on my shoulder,
whisper in the crowd,
shadow on the platform,

Go.

5-22 Green Mood

I insist.
In the rain,
not the misty kind,
or the once in a while,
but the almost pouring,
wind-abled,
soaking, kind of rain,
hike,
into the dripping,
shades and blooms,
of intimate, bigger-ness,
more-ness,
hidden-ness,
within, once-in-a-wild
moods of Forest Park

5-21 Some Boys

This glass of wine,
is my teddy bear,
while he sings,
of some boys,
squeezing the glass breaking,
in my chest,
while he sings,
of some boys,
on a closeted stairwell,
surrounded,
by the songs,
of some boys,
I don't notice,
the tipping,
spin of the room,
tilting and spilling,
into the arms,
of some boys,
till it is too late,
and the wine stains,
my shirt black,
while the viola,
plays the last few notes,
of some boys.

5-20 For Good

It was in those first few notes,
It well may be,
When, I realized, you,
the you that I knew,
was not the you of the song,
eight years ago,
I would never get to know that you,
before your life met the,
boulder in the stream,
maybe that you,
would not hesistate,
maybe that you,
would want to know,
this me,
when you sing that last line,
I have been changed...
I wonder who you sing it too.
I will never know, that you.

5-19 Question A

Is it because you remind me?
of evergreens,
that when I sit next to you,
I listen for the pines,
comfortably silent,
unaware that you,
are sitting there,
listening too?

5-18 Who Turned the Lights On

When the lights came on,

the red cup spills,

paint, lipstick, melted skittles,

sticking slick,

to the poc marked, grease driven,

heeled-in, once-dance floor,

that we somehow forgot,

when we hung up our raincoats,

on the six starred peg.

5-17 First Impression

You had no taste.

The clothes you wore,

embarrassed me.

Though I didn't know you yet.

I was repulsed by your community collected,

over-washed, un-ironed,

neutral toned, once white,

t-shirt, now filled with pot holes,

dirt streaks that would never come out,

complemented by pants that were never jeans, nor khakis, but instead some sort of,

rain-patented, left-over, fish gutted, baggy cracked, slicker-sucker, never-left.

You seemed unaware,

that this was not—

acceptable.

Baring your muddy, bone-twisted,

calloused bare feet, that reeked,

and stank of the earth,

when,

you reached out your hand and

smiled at me.

Why would I not turn away?

What were you thinking?

5-16 The Window Should Have Had A Tree

Today, 

I wanted to take my glasses off,

so I could see Christmas,

in May,

when the sharp angles and lines, 

of Alberta Street,

became defined by the cement architects of

 a city no longer bursting with spring,

but settling into it's

corners,

the afterthoughts of flowers,

as common,

as the old peeling tattoos,

on timber poles,

while the winter dribbled away,

into paw-printed studded puddles,

and drains,

the all of the sudden,

crowded clamoring of ideals,

heard once, the muted din of the front-alley,

bars of winter rolled up their metal sleeves,

and slapped out the tables,

welcoming,

without pomp,

the simple fact,

of a summer of

warm microbrews,

sweltering armpits,

of humanity,

baring,

the naked smile,

of been there,

experience that,

wrinkling,

in creases

permanently

the faded blue ink,

of a jumping deer.

5-15 Eagle Creek

The way he smelled,
the way he curved,
the way the sun dripped light through his hair,
the way he let me in...

I wandered too far.
I got too close,
but it was easy,
and comfortable.
His arms, branching out, reaching, were strong,
while his fingers,
fell about me,
embracing me,
his heart, although around me,
eluded me,
in the drops,
in the tumbles,
the catch basins,
in the shadows,
he hid from me,
but at first glance,
the way he moved,
beneath me,
beside me,
the way I moved,
the way I breathed,
drew me deeper,
into him,
into there.
for the first time,
I felt,
him again,
with me,
around me,
here.

5-14 Argh

Trying not to be angry,
is like punching myself in the face,
and letting myself,
punch myself in the face,
when I am angry,
I am too smart to be angry,
and I hate that,
I am too smart to be angry,
to be out of control,
in my anger,
but I am,
angry,

...and I know why.

5-13 The Dream

They were afraid of her-
Mother.

She laughed with ages.
One without the worry of,
the consequence of time,
while her sons and daughters,
even the special one,
her beloved,
all dressed in white jeans,
cowered and hid in her tomb,
fearing,
the white light,
the flash of her pink ribbon-ed brim.
What had that smile had seen?
Eaten?
Gods survive.
Men want to.
If you are the children of gods,
what do you do?
remain a child,
remain a god,
youth and impermanence in the blowing sand,
grains of iron hot piling and settling, under her carefully white gloved leather hands-

Abruptly,she turned to look my way, startled,
across the years,
the temple,
from where they came,
the one that said-

disappeared into the sand.
The water from the river,
cool,
algae aimless in the flash of the sun,
dripping,
down my face.

5-12 At the Plot

Balance.
Pepper, Poppy, Pumpkin, Tater,
Half a mile,
leash entangled,
minutes later,
flip flop, dry mud, manure stench, pots in place
sky is spitting at my face,
forgot the combo, forgot the shovel,
tried the stake,
didn't take,
grumble, sigh, text, and I,
back to house,
to fix the mistake,
hugs to Tater,
back again,
sky is slobbering,
put them in,
one, eighteen,
fourteen, eleven,
bigger, better, larger, brethern,
rows are sighing,
singing,
waiting for heaven.

5-11 Detour

I don't know,
where they hiked,
or what is what like,
to be them, while
they hiked,
together,
I walked hard,
fast,
took a wrong turn,
four miles later,
returned,
to a sign in twigs with my name,
a hand holding out trail mix,
pages of haikus,
we'll wait here,
no worries,
and I faced
my heart,
alone,
well almost,
she curled into a rock,
behind me,
water,
fell,
upwards,
and I saw.

5-10 Third Wheel

A cart with three wheels,
still rolls,
sort of,
clutching my purse,
with my nervous wrinkled fingers,
the last of my lipstick,
blotched on in patches,
I close my eyes,
to the jarring dust,
crouching into the shadows,
a cart with three wheels...
my lips taste like chalk,
to my left,
spiders crawl out of the cracks,
and cross my legs.
I let them,
spin my veins into cobwebs,
and fragile dreams,
I am the perfection of still,
closing my eyes,
nieces, nephews,
gripping the edge of the bench,
my stomach lurches,
cramps,
miles left to go,
miles left to go,
the sleep never comes,
glass cracks,
slowly pinching my ears,
I ignore,
the sound of men yelling outside,
they want in,
they want in,
desperate,
the dust around my feet stirs,
settles,
holds me in place,
broken pinky to my right,
it left, a postcard,
creased with worry,
and dried ink,
a kleenex to wipe the grime,
and tar dripping from my eyes,
wish you were here,
love,
the spiders crawl into my mouth,
hatching their prayers upon my tongue,
time seems to whisper, for them,
I am still..
a cart with three wheels.

5-9 Orpheus and Me

When it is gold,
the evening and I,
miss you,
mid-curl,
listening,
to the stranger wind,
sing the beginning of the end,
lip trembles hope,
Pandora, kisses the tips of my ear,
I wish I knew who you were.
I can feel,
your head resting on my shoulder,
hand on my back,
but if I turn around...

5-8 This Isn't Happening

"I met with my doctor today."
We sat down at the kitchen table,
while the breeze from outside,
attempted to cool off the hot air,
exploding in a whiny whimpered fury from our
conversation,
as I watched the horror movie unfold,
I heard her words,
held her hand with papers,
while she said,
it's not permanent,
it's only temporary,
it isn't possible,
I heard the waterfall,
but felt the cyclone,
of her words,
I don't want to be you.
I don't want to be you.

5-7 Blue Room

Hot.
In the shade of my blue room.
Staring at the ceiling.
Eyes closed.
Time passes.
My feet bottoms stay hot,
On her belly.
Eyes closed.
Legs kick.
Ears soft, down.
No fan.
Meditating.
Companion.
"hrmph," she says.

5-6 One

5, 6, 7, 8
One!
White glove, red dress,
ruby eye, emerald lip,
fist on hip, kick,
singular sensation,
tank top, drip,
strip, shoulder, drop,
new york minute, nausea,
stomach knot, flutter,
stop,
every little step he,
crash, flash, sugar-smash,
tight jeans, cross and pass,
accent, laugh,
bourbon glass,
glove up high,
hit the lights,
5,6,7,8
kick, step,
step, kick,
blue eyes,
second,
take.

5-5 Afraid To Write the Plot Twist

There will be,
there has to be,
after all,
if he exists,
then I must,
and we write,
what we live,
what I lived,
I write,
the after all,
don't I?

05-4 Four Cups of Coffee

Sunshine glorious and light blue,
Spring tips his hat to Summer,
flirting,
smiles under the straw-brim shadow,
tight in button down pastels and khakis,
distracted by the other's blue jeans tatooed bearded open laugh,
holding his bicep bulging barker,
casual on the glittered-cement street corner.

5-3 I'll Put A Tarp Down

I'm getting ten bags of steer manure.

What?

I didn't tell you?

What? Really?

Well, I guess I could get cedar mulch.

Those bags say hippie crunch die.

Yeah.

Well.

It's for the best.

I know, my Dad would say,

Well...

05-2 The Yard That Wanted A Garden But Got Me

In my backyard,

again, I am uncomfortable/ familiar.

He, could be anyone,

but instead he is him.

I don’t want to put the dirt pile in the trashcan.

It’s after five. It’s dinner time. It’s hot.

But I should,

Suburbia shit-hole mentality,

He still doesn’t get it.

I do.

No matter what form he comes in.

So I say a few polite directed words.

I am still a son.

No matter the father,

but also,

I make a point to leave.

This one is not for me,

to make peace with,

I have already done that.

With mine own.

In his backyard. 

05-01, Up At Six

Groggy, a word,
that I am told,
describes,
my morning,
fog,
also,
another word,
I was told,
that describes,
my sluggish,
insert another word,
morning,
was,
a word,
described,
till..
out of the gordian knot,
the tropical alien chorus,
(insert new word),
morphed
my word.