another black night crash

stuttering like the rebel
wearing sunglasses at night
right off the road and into the brush 
never touched
as yellow as the sun shining
eighty degrees and not a dirty bird in sight
seeing and hearing 
but no one is here but me 
and one other on the other side…

and as the silent movie rolls I get bored
especially with army talk 
and rolling grass that has never been cut 
or at least since the late eighties 
ten years down the road 
and I can’t even imagine where I’ll be 
home soon enough
there’s no need to wait up I have my key

tonight shall be interesting I don’t 
feel like moving while the others can’t stop 
telling me I am wrong again I realize it 
doesn’t matter as much as I try 
the seagull won’t swim and the trees won’t walk 
but weep and they do plenty of that 
and I wish I could crash neck first 
with gravity pulling at my feet 
first falling like that cat frozen in the headlight
the world’s largest book store junkie feeding the need

tomorrow will bring snow and I guess I have no patience 
wrong place wrong time and now I am alone again 
and I patiently wait for the spider web to fall in the rain
but it is too strong and I cannot move 
from the black square blocked on all sides
closing in too fast for feet so furry
and eyes running circles around an empty room
enough to breathe but even the most pleasant breathing
is filled with seeds of suffering
what is night anyway
another black night crash…

surviving a lonely stretch

what is in my eyes that I have not spent
what in my mind caused the huge dent
as if it metal or something else
and the snow is much better as it quickly melts
some things hide deep down inside
so to my best friend I must confide
for he will not judge what I say or do
or the way that I feel when I don’t have a clue
as to where I am going or wherever I’ve been
and I don’t ever know when I’ll be back again
really can’t explain the words that I write
or the thoughts that I spin here late at night
when no one is around to make my smile wide
what else can I do, but run and hide
all that is gone now, once the snow melts
going in circles like those black leather belts
keeping my pants on not too loose or too tight
as I move away and steal into the night
but it hasn’t started to smile
and as for sitting I’ve been here awhile
longer until these some thoughts run away
far from this mind is where they must stay
because they’ll say how sad and I think it untrue
can’t help it that sometimes I get tangled up in that blue
of the sky hasn’t been here for days
and the things that I do I do in different ways
and it isn’t better or worse for that matter
for choosing a position I would stick with the latter
of two or three or seven eight and nine
I am just quiet won’t waste words or their wine
and I know I miss out, heard it tastes good
and all of these thoughts are kept under a hood
or hat or even my hair
and if you can’t see them doesn't mean they aren't there
and what if I told you that tomorrow’s not real
or I found a bank from which we can steal
or take or give or burn
why waste time trying to earn
and up on the mantle I’ll be there not long
but I don’t sing so you won’t hear a song
just the scratch of my pen as it runs out of ink
and they never fill the pen enough for as much as I think
I don’t think I am right, but know I am not wrong
to hold on and so many people, not one not a pawn
or a piece of the puzzle, part of the game
no matter where I go, it’s all the same
can’t find a spot as comfortable as this one right here
just wish for release from all of my fear…

an afternoon

one cup filled only with ice

and feet covered with snow

boots on a sunny day in may—

and one cup of coffee

the other with melting ice

and a maroon vest

buttoned to the top

right beneath the chin

in the smoking section

of this dirty restaurant—

two wrinkled faces

talking of onion soup

over long skinny brown cigarettes

and plenty of coughing

deep voiced waitress spilling coffee

smiles from here to there

and back again

with more ice for the boot man—

and the sun is finally shining

after hiding for almost ten days

no moon at night

or stars to wish upon

but what would one wish for

that we don’t all ready have

can we start again going back

from ten and then

the brown cigarette

wrinkle faces smile

thinking the leather may tear

I turn away and I must

move from this spot as

another afternoon ends…

thought collector

collecting thoughts

as if they were

rare coins or stamps

keeping them in

a book or two

busting the binding

book can’t hold onto

the thought

holds them together or apart

of the whole

image is one

compromised of all the feeling

that hides down deep

digging feet into the spot

so as not to lose this place

hands together in front

and behind these eyes

teardrops wait for

the right moment

losing track of time and space

between two

draws closer to the edge

but further from the ground

stares up into the night sky

has finally cleared…

another year

another year has passed

before these eyes of mine

is the mind of a lonely man

sitting off to the side

without a word to offer

or a thought to lean on

my left foot and practice

some balance will help

me concentrate on the

important things and

and learn to forget the rest

is meaningless, unless

of course the moon is full

and the tide is high

and rising up again I will

create something

no one will see…

without a care

three quarters full, but still

half empty and spilling

out from top or bottom

can’t quite remember

how to forget sadness

comes and goes back

to wherever there is

a spot within me that

is never sad

seven spots on arms

serving as constant

permanent reminders

of the most important

but simple ideas

that came as quietly

as this one did and

does any of this confuse

the closed minded

refuse to hear words written

continuing without a care…

rain filled nights

rain filled nights
seems as though
we’re a month behind schedule
but I have
always hated them
anyway, conserving
energy tonight, need
it for tomorrow don’t ask
why or for what
reason the constant
rain is so late, but
it is so what can I
do, but enjoy and
the sky is painted
gray again, I can’t
mind too much
because I love to look
at it and study it
as if it holds so much meaning and
it may be empty
but to me it is full of
something and I watch
it fall like tears from
so many eyes and the
ears can’t hear and here
I am alone wishing and
waiting for someone
I know I could wait
for days, but I won’t
and a cigarette falls
to the ground a drop
right on the head and
it’s gone until the rain
ends in June and the
sun covers the moon
sitting smiling at the stars
breathing in and
out of my mind…

all that i have

Sunday morning after

tube filled with smoke 

descending upon me

as rain from the darkest of clouds

can’t see the sky blue

and so I sit while they walk 

for the hungry guilt hits me

like a bat to the back as I eat breakfast

wishing I could give them some 

of what I have it isn’t much

it’s much more and I feel so guilty

and only two sticks starting the fire today

not the greatest nights sleep

found myself lonely and tired

cold and alone on Sunday

sitting breathing and smiling

for I will not take for granted

my eyes and what I am able to do with ease

some will go about day to day

without ever thinking about those who cannot see

hear or do what we do with extreme ease

even superman confined to a wheelchair life

and how would that feel

ever wonder as I do

pen would fall from my hand

would lie motionless by my side

what courage to go on and not despair

true to his name imagine being lazy for a day

just sitting watching the television

and not doing anything else

are you comfortable?

—now imagine not having any choice

you can do nothing else

and even a simple task such as getting dressed

can take you hours

trapped in your head with nowhere to go

would you have the courage to blink

into tomorrow what if you couldn’t

look to the beautiful sunset sky

think about this everyday

an appreciation for all that I have…

bald Sampson

overcast and gray sort of like the color of confusion

my mind

doing circles around the closed sign posted on the door

can barely take a deep enough breath

all the sound is muffled

circling the square

sitting here waiting my life away

watching as the lonely waitress walks westward

who am I

wondering as the color of the clouds gets lighter

here at Angus’ Ranch

where dreams are forgotten

the regulars are treated just as though they are tourists

god bless Sampson’s final lock of hair…

burned toast

close shave egg
plant a new seed and
watch a smile take over
and destroy the sorrow
that surrounds
like looking clouds
of smoke
that are as thick as the toast
we burned some years back
thought I knew you
it wasn’t me
but by the dog with a hangover
and a lame paw
don’t blame me anymore
automatically righting the wrongs
that have been done for years
all that is past now
watch the union sundown-down
sweating with the bruise I received
air mail from France
never been there either
don’t ask me what they put on fries
on the side and I can’t swallow
got a lump in my throat
all choked down and dropped up
from the top or bottom
so that really doesn’t matter
and I am probably making you dumber
with my constant humming ramble
that won’t stop…

being peace

not many here
as the bus arrives
and he watches
the clock as minutes pass and thoughts
of water and wine
transformation into blood
such a scary thought
still tastes like wine and looks
like bread
two ones stand side by side
and my eyes are getting worse
as the day wears on and pollen falls like
snow on a sunny day
sneezing and thinking of god
much to think on
when I mention it
it isn’t so clear cut
and dry mouth
on a cross dying
for standing up and
being peace
was he who they claim him to be
was he as fallible
dying just like so many
before and after
and how do you take he is risen
enlightened martyr
take not blind faith and run
take what is believed and think on it
for a while or maybe forever
and we will be back someday
with more knowledge
and insight
being peace…

half here

427/1998

half cloud half sun
and a half twisted mind
a full cup of coffee
to go with the half of the bagel I have not
finished
half awake and still sleeping half
of the time
and half of me wants to leave
half the tree is bare
half the story is told
truth embellished some
but half those hearing listen to the sounds
that form words
before my half shut eyes closed
and open the window to no one knows where
half of the time
making a half-ass attempt at understanding
what is seen through half of a smoke filled room
half filled with kids
loud and unruly
with half a smile
and facing the second half of the day
half here and
half somewhere else…

thought down

seems like I can’t go

anywhere and become a stranger again

do I really mind so much

strawberry jam my mind

full of coffee and thought once

would be enough, but

wrong was the turn

for the worse and sometimes

you never know and then you will

and time for some change

who do they think

they know me

I blend once blue sneakers removed

foot exposed to the world

the corn grows in rows

even when it snows in April

drifting to an escape

from a prison planet

of which you know nothing

and that matters none at all

if that is enough

then stop reading here

if you can cope with the rope

swing 67 thing keep on

because tomorrow is not a promise

an assumption

don’t know that I know

who really cares that much

anyhow way back to the first spot

in the grass where so many

lie overturned under still and blankets

won’t cover feet put on one shoe

and hop back to the point

lost it again

don’t try to understand

still get the chills

when napoleon’s great grand

daughter smiles down on me

brings my crazy neck quite a feeling

and don’t ask and don’t expect too much

too little is always creeping up on me

usually thought down

to another day…

man in the corner

do you think you know him well

enough stone him where he stands

falls never lands

fell for you

what are you waiting for

wish I knew for him

they would rather laugh and point

they don’t know him either

don’t want to or they would

who am I to care or offer commentary

see him often, but our eyes seldom meet

most often I look away

do not want him to feel uncomfortable

tomorrow’s another day

after today

is gone and he’ll probably replay it

one million time in his mind

to find where he went wrong

can’t un-break what’s broken

tries to fix

one fix is never enough…

an apology

to those I hurt

however hurt does come

have no right

and an apology

does no  good without

a follow up action

and how I do want to be different

can’t, stuck being me

as much as I can’t stand it at times

sorry and I know it’s just the word

to describe how I feel

looking down the barrel

swinging from the oak

could serve only one purpose

too selfish and sure I could rationalize

can’t waste that much time

got a great model to follow

don’t know how sometimes

when the problems poke their ugly face

in my direction

hard to change a twenty-three year old habit

not proud and won’t get loud

prefer the silence of the room

then the noise starts to pound my mind

a dog I cannot control

and this here apology is in vain

if I cannot act upon it

haven’t cried in such a long time…

not long enough

424/1998

excuse me please

to be of some help

me climb to the top

of where I was once

thought much

mattered and nothing does

anything count

on this test

statement of sorts

out what has confused a mind

set to spin endlessly

turning into and out of sadness

so close to despair

reaching falling

thinking not long enough. . .

nothing concluded 96

usually self-inflicted

the solitude

submerged completely

at times

scarce room to breathe

who am I to believe

I can be invisible

if I want

to imagine that possibility

just might come

back to join this spot

and what is it called

when the mind won’t stop it’s

circles around each bend

or break the self so dizzy…

start with you

422/1998

when my eyes close and the water stops running

anticipation starts never let down

but hopes not always as high as the room

where he lies waiting for a floating angel

to sit on the edge of the bed

want nothing more than to paint a picture

where she sits done dressing for the day

time now for the opposite

seen the chill as she entered the room he feels it too

don’t mind his tears they are the good kind

how did she even know

back to his bearded face touching silk

the silver is tarnished and faded away

the snow has melted and he is what is left

right before eyes he breaks down

and she slept through it all

he wanted to wake you

something wouldn’t let him

disturb the peace

only then he realized that

it was his too

she brought him there…

sent into yesterday

began as a dream
came crashing into the side
of a mountain made me laugh
to myself and the others
do not know where he might be
nowhere and somewhere someone
is crying
night pushed too fast
into day
light will come up on the horizon
too far away for me to truly see
it clearly it becoming the only wish
knowing a little more about somewhere
someone is laughing
and no matter what
emotion is being used
as a cushion the fall
we all take our time
to get there is a place
and time for it all
the birds singing
in the rain and the wind
blows the message
sent into yesterday. . .

morning death

401/1998


the clocks hands
are nothing like his are old
and in the way
back to day one
no prize for trying
it doesn’t count
backwards spin
the wheel turned now
facing the east
wind blowing
out the match made here
what he has to say
gets lost or something
and they leave him alone
he must somehow payback
to one day he heard the song
sing these words
could really only dream
to be what he really wants
he hasn’t found the map
and as for the treasure
remains buried deep as the sky
is wide eyed in the morning
the death of yesterday. . .