halfway across

listening to the rain

knowing somehow that act alone

is about as free as we get

halfway across the country

in the middle of nowhere

someone with something special to say

back to the solitary nights

this pen is the crutch

can see as I walk from here to there

until morning and the eyes begin

to cross like they were t’s

until morning

when sun shakes water from leaves

behind the wall

underneath all the darkness

and rain written black ink white page

trying to fit back into my skin

after all these years

so many thoughts uninterrupted

dreams waking three

maybe four times

after sleep has come

nearly one am with nothing to say…

my brother travels(for the record)

my brother travels westward tomorrow

might take two full days
before he is high in the mountains
thoughts and positive energy for
his safe passage…

for the record

we are closer than ever today
he needs to leave in order
to someday return
and no matter where
he finally settles
we will always be this close
 
for the record
it is a dream I will
never let go of
and when I wake he will be gone
my guru the man
I call my brother
and best friend…

red alert(for the record)

red alert

more restrictions
will apply pressure
on the liberty
it’s been planned
months years even decades now
admitted surprises work better
to induce fear
it’s probably how the rich
we don’t know run the world
no longer merely pre midnight thought
hung out on the postgame show
tires screeching
as for some the night has
just begun
still drinking coffee
as if to stay up for a fight
 
for the record
obviously internal
no one else is here…

and beyond

 

first night productive in a couple of weeks

the wind picks up and suddenly it’s 100

back down twenty or so it seems

even if it’s still high eighties

planes overhead that sound like cars

when I used to sit at Bickford’s

drinking shitty coffee and smoking cigarettes

completely crooked standing still

at the bottom of the hill

looking upward and onward

passed all my mistakes

empty pockets where hands once were

too generous until the hole dug

enormous and I don’t know which way is up

branches crack in the backyard late

someone taking the shortcut home

what if I leave some morning

and no one hears from me again

these days truly stranger than fiction

how many pages spent until something

makes sense here and beyond…

better than snow(for the record)

one hundred degrees

is not the norm
in the north east
this humidity can only
be experienced
not even talked about
everything is melting
ideas onto paper
nothing can stop it
water eating ice
sink swim or fall
whenever January to July
further beyond the coldest month
 
for the record
the heat is better than snow
take it over cold
any day and just as
pen melts into page
the temperature
starts to drop
and twenty degrees
in two hours
how about that
the rest of the night
enjoying a smile
like no other…