Bill the cowboy

cowboy angel telling me about life

living confined on the tip of a knife

cut out the heart one piece at a time

doesn’t have much but always has time

living inside the darkest and deepest hole

only a handshake I can offer to console

desperate living through everyone he meet

she wakes every day to the odds does he cheat

don’t know how he faces tomorrow

he says he bends under his cross of sorrow

wonders why he can’t stand on the feet he’s been given

what is it he has done and why hasn’t he been forgiven

by now all he’s done is wait for the next day

if I was him don’t know if I would be here today…

locked behind

1207/1998

then there was the envelope

on the table unopened

peering with condemning eyes

locked behind rows of spoons

nicely arranged

the light is flickering

no one notices

slowly destroying the self

inch by inch until

nothing will remain

to polish all the spoons

surrounded by light

and can't for a moment

understand how tomorrow will come

without thoughts of paper folded

stuck shut with glue

and all the shining spoons...

when the sky went black

the scene frozen moment

only sound a beat

tapped out with a ring

when the sky went black

analyzed the mind

counting each weapon

mind sharp slightly imperfect

average with pens holding ink

this porch seen it in all forms

some might lose balance

up too high reaching for stars

secrets shared with

the white of the page...

converges on tonight

my own death finally made you stand still

inside but freezing sister winning first place

you frown at me as I lie there lifeless

has Christmas passed already

no one knows the cause

no trail can be followed too long

longer than the freeze inside longer than your loss

and longer than the letter that I wrote

to find out what the hell day it is and

what it this that has happened

all thought converges on tonight while memories still fresh

all thoughts rise up

to say they cannot be attached to what was

what will come and what is has always come first

my thoughts are with those that will not stop

and among them is the thought that you are finally

standing still...

hallway conspiracy

remember when you walked

in this body ashamed

can't recall when that went away

definitely rooted in both

past and present

future expands under heavy rain

'exploding snow' Kerouac saw

a sight unseen

a dragon emerges from sheep's wool

fiery torches melt white purity

and unheard prayers

deep whispers and wheels still spinning

cracking as heated icebergs

survive august still

a shell of a man

walking toward block seventeen

under the shield of air

sitting while words

in the hallway conspire...

nothing concluded 98

been gone

for sometime

but now

returning with new words

and thoughts

painting pictures

pure thought

thick, stuck

in the mind forcing

themselves onto the page

slowly turning

towards the sun

greeting it with

a new face

attitude to match

lighting the candles

preparing

for an arrival

whispering myself

into a corner

want not to be seen

heard or touched

hearing the wind whistle

outside the window

arrival is close

trembling for fear

of something unknown

desire still to take

the plunge

into and out of

reality and imagination

drawing pictures

of perfection in the sand

sticking out the neck

into the 'I dunno' section

of the mind the biggest part

watching the smoke

pour out of the glass

and the song is

played too much

don't want to tire

all the while sitting

patiently waiting

impending doom

only moments away

the dishes

remain unclean

and my position

hasn't changed

the roar shatters glass

as flesh hammers

hit glass all over the house

bricks of reality

stack high up on the totem pole

of insanity

who says all the rules

have to apply

to every situation

life is such strangeness

waiting again

trees swaying

the breeze is cool

and the air feels good

through the window

this time for sure—nothing concluded...

dry ink

shadow cast on a wide

street connecting two

places that may never meet,

a tiger striped house cat

wandering around the front

around the front yard

looking for a friend

to play and what do any

of us know about the sound

of silence broken by a

hungry dog howling louder than

that northern wind as

daylight’s eyes drift off from

the west…

get lost in the grain

of a piece of wood,

keeping me from a fall

some twenty feet down

to a well groomed lawn

complete with flowers,

flags and shrubs

parted black in the middle

of my mind where all

thoughts go and where confusion

causes dents warping what was

originally there…

white chips scattered as

the weather wears on

the heads of men walking

running off spent

aggression welling up

and down to the corner

selling caps filled with knowledge

of how the wind changes direction

without any warning

those who follow the road

and you will find me and the ink

will barely be dry…

not much longer

man with blue socks

small child, chicken pox
blue sandals looks at me
wind can only bend the tree
metal box so much noise
another child cries for toys
picking scabs on a bruised arm
sitting quiet doing no harm
fat lady wearing a long black shirt
these working hands start to hurt
carriage filled with so much food
she looks at me with an attitude
no smiles seen at almost four
right outside of the stores front door
another minute or two I will sit
look at the car upon which the bird shit
it doesn’t know what a mess
owner comes out laughter I must confess
I saw the bird and didn’t think twice
parking near a dumpster rolling dice
checker taxi almost hit the girl
wearing a blue dress hair in a curl
so much to see at work today
so many thoughts turn blue skies gray…

brick corner

red brick walls behind seven million dollars
blank empty stares blue and white collars
burning a leaf until cotton stink
too much time to stop and think
empty cup filled with only ice
clearest blue sky some beach would be nice
to see the stars shine tonight
with a cool breeze out on the porch I write
wind blowing trash all over the street
far off in the distance a stranger’s drum beat
gets louder and louder and then it is gone
grandfather all day takes care of the lawn
is so green even when it is dark
no one to see it just me and my spark
lights the way until tomorrow
mind left empty of all it’s sorrow

walk if I could

moving too fast

even at the speed limit
who had the idea first
that everyone should be in such a rush
to get from place to place
I would rather take my time
walk if I could I know I cannot
in this world of speeding cars
it’s a wonder how we destroy
the world around us
and still we only worry about
getting there faster
saving time but for what
we will most likely waste it anyway
and not appreciate the beauty
all around us and no matter
how fast the world is going
I would rather take my time
walk if I could…

can't be fun

the wind wakes me from a peaceful rest

against the wall my head is pressed

for time, I take it slow

it will soon be my time to know

what I see before my eyes

can’t even focus, not a surprise

I am so tired at this early hour

still half asleep without a shower

falling from the sky

and if you ask, the clouds do cry

for all the times my eyes won’t move

but it isn’t something I can prove

emotion in the world around

from high up, right to the ground

below my feet where I walk then run

but what is life if it can’t be fun…

escapes me

pierce the sky

falls from up high
until you get down
to ground level
as a plane overhead
moves fast
as clouds with
no destination
letting the wind
catch me and bring me
where it will all
someday make sense
out of my head
hangs high as I ride lower
than some may never
see me for who I am
escapes me at times…

foolish on the porch

and he thought this would solve the puzzle

but remains confused because he is the
piece that will never fit right
and nothing is black and white, ink and
page, everything is so gray can’t find happiness
instead hopelessness fits him like a glove
 
red lines and no one reads the words on the lines
looks foolish sitting on the porch
night after night alone in thought
something is wrong and why won’t anyone
understand that he might need a hug
day after day told what he has failed to do
look at what is done
 
found alone and unnoticed
breath and words on red lines
won’t be seen
once it was known
what it took
now no one tries
no one seems to care

eight minutes

the moon dances across the sky

I sit high above perched so I can see
all that is going on below
which way to turn
look, wishing I could
make eight hours pass
like eight minutes…

wake to work

as I look out into the eyes

that surround me , I see
very few who will be here
months, years from now
I dream of one day being
truly free to spend a day
how I choose to, but that
dream shattered when
I wake to work…

on the cement

thought brought me here where I belong

knowing how I am weak is what makes me strong
some pretend to know that I’ll never do
some will say whatever to what I say is true
the blue sky is bright and reminds me of a thought
in confusion’s web I try not to get caught
at times I know I do I spin until I am free
no one here to help no one here but me…

eleven an hour

so hard to make the time

stuck inside my head hours
trickle like a drying stream
going nowhere
I find a spot of shade, but
no one to join me there
and the thoughts keep
pounding, threatening to
break the walls
everyone is too busy to notice
it’s too hard to make
the time go, when I may have uttered
two complete sentences all day
can’t wait until I am at home
much easier to take time there, time enjoyed,
time well spent, seems as though—
here, time wastes…

staring at a mailbox

so hot outside

and my mind melting
under my hat
 
smoke pouring out
of my nose and
people run here
 
and there without
a thought on what
they do, they don’t
 
know how I know, just do
wandering aimlessly
through thought
 
after thought until
I arrive somewhere
I recognize…

talking to you in sleep

touching your smooth skin

while you sleep
I have conversations and you don’t hear
me, but the thoughts travel through
all that is said during waking hours
running through minutes of dreams and
becoming part of your sleep…

nothing to hide

until the night

turns over and is gone
until you are sure
what side you are on
the old woman speaks
my ears open wide
thought for her on loneliness,
nothing to hide
all of her pains
turned out, half hour
hoping she can make it home
before another shower…

they're lying

from out of the ashes I notice a lie

not one I told, but told to me so many times—
every thing's going to be all right—
nobody knows so this is a lie
all right if the definition is
universal, but it’s relative
the trash tells me
a story and I think of the
interconnectedness
of all things and
I hear those words all over again—
every thing's going to be
all right—
that’s too general a statement
for me to believe and
everyone’s ideas on what each
individual word mean,
is so different that
that statement can never
be true unless qualified, explained
or put into a box
labeled “this is whatever”
so next time you
hear the words know
that they are lying…

all i can be

without reason a ring in the dark

who is this calling to me and my spark
lights the way on the porch under the stars
only noise left bats and some stars
my beads and I, om mani padme hum
compassion in prayer around my neck hung
some may not see four fires burning,
but some do not care about spiritual learning
too many hours in the day, no waste
a life without meaning is a meal with no taste
a book with no words a song with no sound
a gathering for all with no one around
day after day the thought tower tall
next to me only my appearance so small
only one out of many and words come and go
as the weather changes from rain into snow
sky going from clear blue to gray
as the night turns so slow into day
I sit quietly with pen in my hand
gathering thought in a fistful of sand
slips right through fingers back into the sea
but I am content with all I can be…

9:07am

they would all laugh

if they knew
what it took to get
through a day
in the life of only I
under only the weight
of the sky
pressing hard and
I know some can’t wait
until tomorrow they
anticipate
events ready for what
they desire
sitting so silent, patience,
my fire
and it won’t burn, so
come, no fear
closer still, who’s
conscience is clear
as the sky on one of
these days
so many situations, react
in different ways
to the end or beginning of
it all
careful of everything avoiding
a fall
from a station where
they put their feet
I haven’t moved from
this hard wooden seat
and I found comfort
while many stay sad
waking with the sun
for that I am glad…

five years ago

people returning from the

past and only a few
I would actually trust
 
another name on a list
not-so-long, people to
remember and some
 
to forget, standing side
by side and thoughts
turned upside down
 
don’t even know when
the last time I was
thinking on these
 
forgotten and unforgotten
people, some five years
ago splitting for
 
our separate lives
and all of a sudden
thrown back…

summers pass

seasons pass

slow until summer
 
arrives, welcomed with
open arms and soon
 
after greeting, it’s gone
traded for rain, turned
 
cold, turned to snow
and lingering for months
 
wish the days were
always as long as
 
twenty-one days into
June, but they shrink
 
like cotton shirts not
washed with care
 
and maybe it’s the
same length as the
 
other three, but the only
hot one so it seems
 
to me that there are
two seasons, summer
 
and not summer…

desolate mind

three alone
watching out the window
what will come next
and what thoughts press
at the sides of desolate minds…

so full of this day
and all it brings
to the eyes and
all senses working
overtime, desire too
once again be empty…

almost forgot what
no thought felt like
until the moment
emptiness hit, square
in the nose, like
not watching where
you are going and
walking into a wall…

who painted the pictures
on the wall, who put
that stain there, who
filled the salt shaker
who cares, some may
think, but a desolate mind
finds thoughts
when most would say
“not thinking about
anything”…