about twenty minutes

sitting inside this big box

staring at what appears to be coffee

still unsure

the streets of the city are filled again

as if they never left

staring out these two holes

seeing out and breathing in

still being cautious

intersections of souls and minds

patient with days alone

the smoke sucked across the room

as if drawn into a vacuum

no one seems to mind much

accidentally ruining the coffee with an ash

mind painted a masterpiece

all it took was a smile…

mid afternoon sun

saying the same

words over and over

some broken record

might sound better

repetition for no good reason

angry at the self

for allowing some to get

too close even if he is immune

it’s annoying to read

fuckin tales of woe

sorry excuse at times for written words

repeating not even to stress

importance probably

repeating out of boredom

mid afternoon sun

drains the energy…

saw him sitting lonely

some people think

he might be a lunatic

still trying to figure out

what I think

what is a suitable label

is one actually necessary

saw him sitting lonely

thought I would sit

for a cup of the city’s finest

coffee still unsure

what city we were in

figured eventually it would

come up in conversation

and if I wanted to know

what he thought bad enough

probably should have asked

did not ask and in a strange way

felt like I knew this man

always alone walking that line

nothing to prove

and some would still

call him a lunatic

push him to the side

and one that doesn’t matter

twenty-first century hippie type

faded ink on his arms

permanent most but

some random ink stains

from the pennon the page

seeing a tear in his eye

wondering which was the thought

troubling his mind

don’t dare ask as he has

not even addressed me

since I sat down…

shaking hand

can’t draw a straight line

from there to here

what he has said

and brought to a point

him in the right direction

lost in the shuffle

from side to side

he might hide

but those who want

to find him

will when they think

hard enough on the thoughts

that usually go unnoticed

to most unappreciated

by some who will say

otherwise and who don’t

know him well

where he made a wish

and it could come true

if he ever finds the muse…

not worth reading

what could it be

brings one to me

so much things to say

can’t wait another day

when it reveals itself

books on the shelf

ready to be read

before everyone is dead

to a world so cruel

remember the rule

do unto others

respect to our mothers

to many thoughts

stretched out on cots

what could it possibly

mean what do you see…

even if it never comes

down the hall

doesn’t want to leave

no wish to be granted

running to the shelter of arms

and his aren’t long enough

to reach around himself

always hoping for tomorrow

even if it never comes

enjoying the day

and as it turns to night

with a little bit of rain

riding the waves of loneliness

out until the water calms

with a crash on the shore

thunder in the distance

lightning like a strobe light

making any action

seem more deliberate

descending the stairs

and walks to his car

he watches the light go off…

breaking the fever of a day

finally

the fever of this day

has ended

anticipated

heavy rain

running down the windows

to the left

years ago

the reflection

can still be seen

with the right

eyes…

always endless

sit myself down in the corner

push the pen so it

makes all the lines

and curves

and what if the evil twins

met betting it would

be an interesting meeting

the pen still moves inspired

to make a smile appear daily

and it’s all beyond my control

but will continue to try

even when cards stacked against

the impossible is imaginable

the end is never possible

because this is all endless

but the possibilities are

always endless… 

more practice

one whole side of the fence

stained by rain

hasn’t fallen today

too much hair he thinks

as humidity takes over

in the northeast

where everyone can be rude

and so few connect for real

so many mistakes

forgotten as night rolls

closer to the edge

and it’s gets sharper

each time he falls

he rises higher

when he comes back to collect

what he knows he has earned

some respect from a few

days go by without eyes

but never without the mind…

the heat

the heat can really

only be compared

to an open oven

forgot to shut it off

who is in charge

who is running this joint

burned out some

will surely say

like a candle with

no wax left to burn

on the other hand

he has plenty

even if it’s a little singed

he becomes inspired

by evening rain

and afternoon sun

and day break brilliance

the heat makes the cat

heavy in the breathing

without an extra thought

to spare…

resting through the news

making change enough to make it last

the night might crash and burn

the pages is they sicken you with words

anything is possible to over simplify

as well as can be expected only to sell

two books filled with what is next

no one knows replacing negative

with positive for a change of thinking

at last and even if it doesn’t

the positive thinking will power

will continue to move the mind

to overcome anything now

can be stretched until it’s far enough

words spoken softly and comfortable

enough to sleep now and rest

through the news…

pen weighs a ton

probably not the right time

or the right place

slow down at the sign

but he should pick up the pace

is he all right

going the speed he is at

not thinking all night

occasionally wondering that

might destroy him with words

start from the end

finally enough strength to

corner the bend

in the river or

was it a road

still such a mystery

without a cheat code

red tin with smoke

bag of books on his back

if he was leaving

he wouldn’t even pack

for the ride

he has enough in his head

he doesn’t move fills more

books with thoughts instead

Aztec blues

two four two choruses long

remembering the day

he thought he wrote a song

never found the tune

in the dark of the sky

never found himself

until above the clouds high

mind spring up

someone wants to read

how does a stranger know

exactly what he might need

a smile and her eyes

he’s lost and she is far away

what new thought

will make the feeling stay

long enough to enjoy

analysis is not a strength

the road is winding and bumpy

he doesn’t care about the length

of the days or nights

it’s all the same

patience can be loneliness

by another name

beads worn color

less radiant than the sun

thinking on ‘what’s the deal?’

this pen it weighs a ton…

thought fiend

looking at his hands he wonders

walking backwards through time

in order to look more carefully

at where he’s gone wrong

in the past and how the present

can be stretched out endlessly

arms between two trees

balancing somehow on a tight rope

still swaying at times trying

to avoid another fall through

knowing he has a better outlook

this time looking back at his hands again

he remembers touching the face of beauty

with hands now flat on the table

and a fiend he might be

but not for what you might expect…

push it out a window

looking over words written

pages and pages of scribbling

pushing it all out the window

and into my own face

at the same time making  

a pact to put into motion

looking over words again

where will I be in years

desire to take the bull by the horns

as they say, I am a Taurus

don’t you know

if that even means anything

at all…

up early dreaming

up early again

dreaming she never left

stayed with me through the night

waking to the voice

already the start of another day

creating things that otherwise

would not exist

night drift far from ending

beginning of something

no one knows the outcome

back by this way again

straying from any rational thought

lost when pulling the cord

deploying the device

keeping gravity in check

removing what is old

and in the way…

with Winchester

walks in and sits down

with Winchester starts up

a conversation but

he already had one going on

the man is shaking a bit

sits and orders a meal

first chance he gets

when the food gets there

he spits something out

about being poor

and poor Winchester says

he has twenty-five and he will

pay for the man’s meal

nice gesture but I know

this man has a job

he probably cashed his check

today maybe not

sad though that he finds

it necessary to hump the old

generosity of Winchester

should I stand up and tell him the truth

about this man but maybe

he feels it worth the cost

for the added company

no one ever sits with Winchester

he put his money on the table

and was silent until the stranger left

no need for words

until he was alone again…

collecting thoughts

spend a life gathering things

putting them in imaginary boxes

possessions collecting

only to leave behind

want to find

the meaning behind

not so sure

if he belongs

of course he has things too

he is a collector of sorts

but would leave it all behind

for the freedom to roam

he has got to play the game

until he figures out how to break

the chains amused by the meeting

of strangers swept off feet

tired of walking in circles

and the sun shine warms

the corner of the room where

he sits contemplating

what he knows about

future events

foolish conversation

no longer wanting to deal the cards

laid to rest years ago

or months he doesn’t gamble

with that shit anymore

found himself standing alone

staring at the moon

shooting star and a random meeting

two familiar souls

life breathing into spent lungs

waiting stretching and catching himself

staring into eyes in the sky

generating some sort of strength

from within to swallow

all the tired words

and play eye some music

irie eyes and music lifting him above

and away from the trivial pursuit

of whatever is deemed fun this week

the sun has set

and he is a would be drunk anyway

no actual purpose or maybe

he is lying again

who’s to say maybe he

is famous by now

he is in his mind anyway…

flew the coop

wandering Joe is gone again

don’t know where

he traveled off to this time

no one know

just want to sit in silence

but the hand won’t quiet

the mind wandering Joe

was here two weeks ago

speaking about the war

the one that would devastate

New England apparently

on another plane

or maybe they finally kicked

him out for good

he was really starting to smell

it’s sad though

wandering Joe, they thought he was crazy

but very amusing as he spoke

out loud to himself

wishing him a safe return

whether he is in another world

or at a coffee shop down the street…

wild thoughts

fan spins smoke

into an eye far off

on another subject

wild thoughts

he can’t say though he may try

too hard and fall

so many hours

until then there will be moments

not believing he will make

Friday will arrive

far away with smiles

impatience doesn’t help

when the smoke clears

he lights another

doesn’t even want to deal

games friends play

more smoke taking a ride

on the fan of conversation

where has everyone disappeared to

this place used to be busy

and he sits alone

as the waitress tries to talk to him

he stares into his mind

opening it up onto these pages

ink stained reminders

of his brother

the man in the hills

standing in the garden of the gods

coming as close as anyone could

he sees him in the sunset

and the ‘carneys’ start to invade

the city dirty

and the smoke won’t clear…

hardly discouraged

always leave a good tip

he’ll be back

and wants to be appreciated

he takes advantage of the atmosphere

hardly discouraged

by the sticky table

and un-vacuumed floors

also ignoring the loud laughter

from the kitchen

after he orders what he considers

his dinner breakfast food maybe

hardly discouraged

he doesn’t pay much attention

notices some pain in his elbow instead

hoping it isn’t from falling

from words written

overload the fragile mind

the dam will burst

with all this pressure…

monotony of the mind

dropping thoughts

like heavy objects

thud to the floor

might crack under weight

until darkness arrives

pulled across the sky like

a blanket hiding beauty

above or below the sign

there’s a note haven’t got

to read it yet it’s been there

for days may have been one

someone left for me

or one I wrote myself

more than likely of no importance

seen behind clouds

black sky night only interruption

being the conversation

under the sky a welcomed break

in the monotony of a mind

bent on exploration

bent mind spiraling

out of control…

running for no good reason

running for no good
reason left at the start
of a day and a smile
don’t get to see it
know it is there
running into walls
and closed doors
for so long nights and busy days
melting together
if the word is necessary
it will be used and confused
with desire and thoughts
don’t always have to reference
the yabyum here he comes
peddling strange words
like candy to those
whose eyes can see
passed ink and pages
paint and canvass
emotion spilling from a mind
overflowing with thoughts
and things that might not
make sense to anyone anytime
anywhere...

smoother than ink

blinding orange sky
turning dark the alley nights
creeping into focus
mentally on the third time around
a little luckier and maybe
it takes skill to understand
because emotions can turn
any situation in chaos
created itself in the wave
emotion controlled can be beauty
never before seen
in a dream possibly
flying low over the city of champions
can’t always listen to the words
arm burns as I write
racing nowhere at break neck speed
coming to a spot within myself
barely recognize walking by the glass
breaking down below
held pierced by eight o’clock sirens
screaming from across the city
should go now and take the twenty minutes
don’t want to snuff the candle before
it burns bright as the sky
no matter east or west facing
my mind doesn’t change
just twists and bends
in a road higher in altitude
breathing in the thin of the air
lonely for no good reason
plenty of thoughts to enjoy
meditate with pen in hand
arm still burning because I don’t stop
words rolling off the tip smoother
than the ink that draws them
the mind creates them
whether I choose it or not
taking a deep breath of the humid air
sinking deeper into a place
can’t seem to escape
the mind finding release in the naked
pages stripped of their purity
by my words and thoughts
what on earth am I doing here
on the hard floor of the porch
apartment number two…

neighborhood noise

just wish they would stop
with all the noise
some kids down on the corner
using their parents car
as a jungle gym
the horn is being leaned on
both hands by the youngest
probably 5 years old
teenagers babysitting seems
to be the case but they are absently
playing with their phones
being extra loud as well
they don’t even see me up here
but surely I see them
and could hear them
even if out of sight
this irie eye and my purple
sunset sky a message from my guru
received here back east
how could I have prepared
for what I should have known
all along can I handle this strain
horn blows again
feeling myself sounding old
and in the way
isn’t that a bluegrass band
up here perched like a vulture
waiting for inspiration
or the rain to visit again
ink stains remind and remain
on the mind and distractions
causing the stumble
onto an already scarred knee…

730 Monday

playing with the idea
that I still might be on vacation
or something like that
as if I am far away from all
the things that never make sense
anyway and here I sit wasting
the day with words that some might
read and others won’t even see
hidden behind words on pages
a prison of ink bars so strong
another beautiful sunset
and everything appears more
three-D than usual
night in the life of the hermit
writer out on the floor of the porch
at seven-thirty on a Monday...

no one knows when I am listening

really wouldn’t mind
some apple pie or ice cream
or something sweet like candy
and I let my mind wander off
listening to the couple in the next booth
speak Spanish a word or two here and there
they don’t mind because they probably
don’t know I am listening
sometimes it is what is fun about writing
no one knows when I am listening
no on knows when I am deep in thought
or staring blankly out the window…

just don't think

join the army
or go to college
drink beer smoke butts
get a job get married
buy a house have some kids
make money spend money
spend more get drunk
have sex grow a beard
shave it off grow it back
walk a mile sing a song or something
go to church believe in something
don’t think just follow the crowd
don’t think you could be a poet
do what they do and everything
will be fine just don’t think...

clean cup

another gray day
brings to mind
thoughts and fear
cup of coffee too hot
to drink no one is here today
just an elderly woman
and myself she is down one end
and I am at the other
she is facing the wall
and if I look straight ahead
I am looking at matted white
hair on the back of hers
not really thinking about her
just observing the scene
surrounding me and I don’t
confine myself in this spot for any
reason except it used to be a spot
where friends could find me
now no one is looking
and I am alone staring
at the back of a stranger’s head
kind feel pathetic a bit sitting here
in a restaurant that is pretty far from
clean and I can't remember the last
time I got a clean cup…

fish out of water

all he needed was a taste

and he is hooked

a fish out of water

now fiend-ing for that altitude

much clearer and cleaner

it seemed to choke him up at times

he has allowed himself to get caught

up in the web of twenty-five years

in the same place so much

left unseen in other places

two hours difference

but so much different

surely it must have some

negative aspects

none to be seen in six days

back to the grind tomorrow

only if he lets it grind him down

much gained in days gone

back to where he started from

a muse dwells here too

sunset and full moon

rising on another new attitude

towards everyone and everything

even if no one or nothing

will change around him…

what's the point?

a couple days now

as the clouds roll over

eyes close as time off

comes to an end

becoming the beginning

of something new ideas and thought

flood the mind back

to where I started

years since

and maybe it’s only been days

maybe everyone is as confused

but no one will admit it

everyone laughs over breakfast

on the east coast

no one acknowledges another

unless they already know

and even then it’s a struggle

to get people to connect

it’s no wonder everyone

seems so angry

and no I don’t remember

what my point was going to be…

how, will be revealed

Colorado Springs, CO

exactly where I left off

fruits and vegetable

and the early hours

starting to get to me

all the smoke

has got to go

how? will be revealed in time

just as arrival

the departure is dread-able

still somewhat unnoticed

mountain gods

have many a good story

to tell and I am still listening

four nights straight

taking notes suggesting to myself

to think tomorrow as I have today

with patience and compassion

heading towards all the many changes

upon returning…