soon enough 

in the wake of a full moon the heavens turned a dark hue.
weathermen prophesied; but what could be done?
swollen eyes pleading to the animated sky-
sun, moon and star mobiles spin over empty cribs-
always grasping for something more. 
drawing a circle through space and time-
one line to mark the beginning and the end.
initial inscription entailed,
sea water and cement, a curious pair-
and rain falling, in open air.

how do we cope?
basement level apartments still trying to stay afloat.
in the case of internment, break glass, because third-class is a windowless mirage.
delirious, I suspect icy seas and CCTVs rewired to look introspectively.
interior Peanut city officials muddle words on little screens.
mushroom cloud irises are all I see.
slaughterhouse sheep, poor Shepherd couldn’t bear another starry sleep.
a nice pillow and pad, and a blanket weighing down our chest.
comfortable, counting each shallow breath beside a flickering flame-
losing sleep, over some lost change.

they say it’s one for the ages,
so in preemptive precaution next week’s schedule is a clean slate-
and today, I am free.
today, I am free to watch-
headless city folk tote bags of chicken noodle soup and scented candles, returning to roost in the high rises,
while man on the street prays for dry feet-
to clarify, I have no complaint.

windswept, and wayside.
there is a light in deep indigo.
outstretched arm , upright thumb.
allow yourself to be taken -
by a streetcar named solace.
blooming over blue grasses , 
there is a light ,
hanging above your door.
so, won’t you come in?

untitled (lumberjack)

burning torches early morning
kitchen table , barely stable.
a wild stallion fenced in.
my mind racing , I wasn’t facing 
all the demons that kept me caged in-
hot iron, inside a frozen wasteland. 
I, came to grips and felt the heat in my hands.
two feet learned to stand , kingly-
miss me, pocket aces sitting pretty.
play it right and you can see through the acts-
chopped the curtains and let it all fade to black

a prayer , a reminder

offering American Spirits to Native Spirits.
protect the sacred land,
recieve us with open hands.
crossing borders in a bit of an off kilter state,
tobacco crumbles and slips through the grate.
a hot wire.
some advice, draw nearer to the fire,
burn the bottom log and hum all day long.
I beg to ask, what is mine to carry across these lines in the sand?
and what kind of man was I?
proclaiming “this is how it will be!”
coals will settle into dust,
soon enough
 soon snough.

ouchie

bandaids on your fingers
in relentless pursuit.
try, as I might,
I, am no physic,
but your curled toes
beneath swiss chesse socks
tell the story of a dream so long forgotten.

bandaids on your finger-
tips only scratch the surface
of what is the cost of life(?).
beside yourself,
I listen to your story.

bandaids on your fingers
in relentless pursuit
of what is already to come. 

and something came to me

I saw the lightning
binding the heavens.
I was still for a time,
and forgot what was mine.

I saw you climbing,
illuminating the lessons
I have come to know 
all too well - I remember.

you saw us building,
creating a temple,
of Cedar and Juniper-
and what was never lost was returned.

hound

I sniffed you out
a thousand miles away

like the dog that I am.

  chasing until it’s forgotten,
A tale as old as time

heading North, heading Home

bright sadness in young Autumn air,
as the snake sheds its skin

for joel

midnight black, silence-
the train tracks shift - a new way!
  the sound of life flows.  

squished butter

     yellow butter-
flies flutter
sunshine wildflower
    90 miles an hour
splatter
   splatter
   faster
        faster...

memory

grappling strung out interpretations
bridging time.
and now,
somehow,
I’ve forgotten,
what to say.

man of stone

a shaking hand
plucks a ripe fig from the branch
and hands it to me
with care

stucco

iron jacket country
blue between green
joy aches beneath the sands

the morning after

  my hands felt heavier today,
more sensative.

I was thinking too much,
about what they can create.