but better

it's not the same as if I were

at some café somewhere

bean town or the apple

Crestone or Amsterdam

it's the same hand holding the pen

not likely the same moleskin

it's possible anything is possible

under the cover of dark and clouds

and two out of three ain't bad

it's not the same as it once was

merely one or two years ago

my own wooden table

same table my grandfather

used to sit at not some crappy booth

with gum stuck to the bottom of the table

lit as I desire not some heat lamp

and smoke stained glass windowed walls

on two out of four sides

it's not the same Brocktown I once knew

a spot where I could sit for hours

and no one would even know I was there

used to sit out on the front porch even in the rain

back then in solitude there

as I am here out on the back porch

it's not the same

and I am glad for that

it's not the same but better

no matter who you ask and what they say

everything about what I do is better

it's not the same it's better

than any wish list fulfillment

or dream dotted together in some journal...

eye witness both

thirty years and still haven't
figured out what the hell
eye am doing here
in front of everyone eye know
and those eye will never know
what to make of sunrise and sunset
those two nearly perfect moments of each day
most of the time eye witness both...

all this time wishing something
would happen and send this thought
train rocket style into orbit
still struggling with all the thoughts
about what eye might want to be
when eye grow up no matter what
eye will not be happy with the end
of ts Eliot's life he did pen
wasteland and wound up in
the church of England
two simultaneous moments in time
as far away as they can be
eye witness both

stretching this truth here because
these moments here are bendable
and no lives depend on any decisions
made out on the back porch
as close as eye get to back woods
small fire at my feet
and in one month it will be summer
doesn't even feel like spring
and eye witness both...

45 degrees in May

it's 45° and it's almost June

it's new england and the saying goes

if you don't like the weather

wait a minute it will change

how true it is

the night slips way out of reach

down beside the seat

on the other side of the car

his nose is running

by the end of the tenth cigarette

of the night back wondering

how it could be so late

when he's got to wake so early...

listen, he says

here we go

another serial cluster of calls

coming at all hours

caller ID shows when it is him

from now on it's his choice

of whether or not he answers the call

curiosity usually makes him pick up

the ringing phone what's on the other end

what's he got to say tonight

he's not doing anything else

might as well give a listen tonight

claims he can turn on his CD player

with his mind and pause it too

'listen' he says

as he proves his talent over the phone

it's all he can do to keep from laughing

he's dreaming his own rage against the machine

that no one can somehow avoid

and get caught 'pause, you hear that?'

and so he lights a stinky clove

someone else left behind

he sits in the corner

almost ten minutes

and never stayed on the same subject

more than 45 seconds or so

he claims he is somehow

a JEDI knight

science fiction and reality mesh

in his boxed up bedroom

sharing the house with his mom

nothing wrong with the picture

it's simply what it's become

after thirty something years...

nothing concluded 152

as the eleven o'clock

purple line pulls

into town

blows a horn

or a some sort of whistle

because the sound

of a train

isn't loud enough

for some people

need the noise

nothing concluded

and the ringing

into his ears

won't soon go away

twenty-four hours now

and he will

pause to load up

another cigarette

a day of rest tomorrow

some sleeps at this hour

therefore there is no reason

for a taxi to be leaning on

the horn out in front of the house

bad enough the sirens

blare down silent sleeping street

strobe light wake up

the neighborhood false alarm

nothing concluded

nothing more than

teenager boredom

one page from completion

it seems

not conclusion

nothing concluded

almost put down

the pen anyway

don't know how he would

explain the blank page

so he continues

until he is blue

with smoke of all kinds

bud vase built into the dash

how convenient still

nothing concluded

entering the home stretch

feeling sleep

right around the corner

turned it down already

ready to rest

nothing concluded...

come back again

the table
has become shaky
customize the night
the cane which he chose at times
comes in handy when night air gets thin
thoughts explosive hard to find
come back again...

only minutes

only minutes

since the last thought

onto the next

the minutes don't

stop or slow down

and neither should the pen

and he needs to make more use

of his modern day typewriter

only minutes

until the sun will

disappear behind newly grown leaves

taller it seems than last year

how would he know

he has taken the picture to prove

it but will anyone take the time

to notice the purple flowers

have popped up everywhere

in the moss grown backyard

scattered patches of really green grass

and patches of dirt

and a pile of rocks around the biggest tree

in the far left corner

at least 40 years old if not older

only minutes since the dog

last went outside and he's sniffing around

looking for a spot because I am ignoring

him at the moment and only minutes

until I either bring him back out

or clean up his mess...

after another long day

after another long day

of the physicals

sitting now on the back porch

surrounded by the back woods

smoke rising like a fire

started first thing in the morning

to beat the rising sun

after another long night

he will be back

in the spot

the marketplace

with the accidental conversations

that won't stop with everyone

and/or anyone who will listen

as the thoughts pour over the page

not home thirty minutes

and already he's got

pen in hand ready

at the first instantaneous idea

poor pen never stood a chance

just a tool in this thought process...

nothing concluded 151

another verse or chapter

depending how often

one reads words put under eyes

nothing concluded

and he struggles daily

wonder why we accept

what they provide

for answers don't make sense

half-truths impersonating evidence

what do they expect

eventually conclusion drawn

out as plans to recapture

the personal freedom

we will lose and have lost

nothing concluded

he is completely determined

to sit and wait

patiently planning

his escape from

and into reality

nothing concluded

been putting it down

in front of for years now

and then answering to

my own interrogation

now and then

deciding to take the day off

so what the only one

here to stop him was the dog

no chance he knew

what he was barking

at eight in the morning

the head wasn't even clear

and of course

nothing concluded

as he enters the second half of the day

a lot like the first half

under a suspicious cloud

thoughts are always worth digging

and finding a day’s worth

treasure tucked up in the mind

silent still as ink

hits the page

nothing concluded

as it was then and is now as well...

50/fifty no other way

the flow is steady tonight
no different it's May and he still throws
a hood up as if he's cold
an old man he works with
asks him every day if his head is cold
old man's name is Herb Tripp
how funny is that
the flow is steady and the head is hot
under a needls knit with brim and bag
he sits with a cigar hanging out of his mouth
back porch behind the blinds style
thinking of the brother he wishes to chill with
he too understands the mind to be a maze
running around trying to amaze
someone with a particular skill
he hopes to find another steady flow
onto the next page someone always has something
to say and the noise this late will not be appreciated
by the neighbors no doubt loud enough
to wake anyone trying to sleep at this point nearby
the flow could continue all night long
if he let it ring out slow and smooth like a bell
bringing about a mindfulness he can bring
into the unconscious night ahead
a flow he cannot control or even plan to remember
it's hit or miss with him
50/fifty, no other way...