early evening

still can't get
a really nice spring
day only one flower red
(as these irie eyes)
beneath the huge maple
tree out in the back
looking at the shadows
on the grass and listening
to the wind through
the corners of already
open windows
brings on a memory flashback
twenty years pass
as if it were only minutes ago
where does all the time go
when it's here with him
it passes slow
he closes his eyes
and time speeds by
with no regard for how fast
he might be able to write
and catch up...

it's got to be getting
close to when
the clock tower bell will
strike once
his own bell in the corner
privately sounds
a call to thought
as random as can be
will be pulled into the middle
of the street if need be...

birds changing tune

the bell hangs below
and will bring one's mind
to the attention of one's
consciousness he never
minded sitting at the table alone
as long as he can keep
an eye out the window
at all times

the rock pile grows
when first viewed
every spring today
was the first day he actually
remembered to check the growth
of his pet project back yard
beautification and the fan spins
keeping the unhealthy air
at least circulating
a slight fresh breeze mixes
in through two open windows

birds sing different tunes
depending on the time of day
how do they keep it
watches on feathered wrists
or something a bit different
and amazingly enough he can see
his reflection in the end
of his silver pen with black ink

the bell calls the writer
to the inner consciousness
he trains to capture any
inner work that goes unnoticed
throughout the course
of any day someday and now

the sun has shifted
into the spot where
it will make it's descent
below the horizon still
some hours away
done so much and nothing
all in the same day
can anyone else tell
or is he still alone in the room off
the back of the house

the bell sitting
not-so-high above
his hanging position
can anyone else see
the crazy comfort he enjoys...

nothing concluded 165

he’s probably going

to talk about
the day until
it comes and goes
without catastrophe
 
plan already in the
works (or the appearance
of one) to stop
everything
nothing concluded
 
where in the Bible
still searching
and wondering
six oh six
oh six
 
does it mean
anything now
or coming this
summer ?
nothing concluded…

what's at the end

no one has the front door view
he does and when no one is
around he might stare at
the pictures kept in his mind

it's too late to make another
pot of coffee and the arm is
beginning to cramp slightly it's
probably because of the chill tonight

so far from home he must
miss it all and little ones
still too young to know
any difference at all

he's not paranoid he lives
in the middle of nowhere
someone has got to go a long way
out of the way to find

what's at the end there
a neighbor or passing by listener
nothing better to do late on Thursday
what's that

no way to stop what is
destined to arrive someday
the pages might turn a little
faster and no one will have any cash

silence isn't actually here
at the moment (electric heater
battles the chill) you wouldn't be
either if you had the chance
—you do

half picture half drawing
artistic leave behinds treasures
to the pen pushing mad man
behind fifteen blinds

it might be completely fabricated
like the lines extending right
off the page like the porch
he sits within these pine walls

he writes and someone in China
could read it tomorrow
it is just how the world works
these days unlike any other
—what's at the end...

even if he should

without the slightest hesitation
beginning again
almost as if
he never stopped never will
even if he should
to look the other way
and see if anyone
happens to glance back
his way

without flinch at all
he is hit in the face repeatedly
with punches
somehow he
doesn’t fall and feels no pain
jaws drop in amazement
no one knew
the mountain he needed to
climb to find the clean air
act as if you didn’t know
if you did
without an end
or until it ends
all over again starter
page one
everyone knew
despite what they are telling
you how many pages
later are you going to realize

without consequences
they will probably continue
to lie for another two years
who will be the next
(to do the lying)
for the whole world to see
an absolute joke…

edgewise stagnation

a word in edgewise
plenty of time
mind plays the stagnation
card as if there was is will be
a chance to beat the dealer
who will meet this ominous figure
a word on midnight sessions
smoke filled but no one around the room
empty but over flowing with thought
a word to the wise improvise
make it work what ever it might take
until midnight or later
then later still a word
confused still able to turn
pages and flip the pen and cigarette
simultaneous at times
thoughts will start stop
in the middle of the night
begin and end with a strange spring haze
hanging low in the basement...

nothing concluded 164

in order like

paperwork
sent off with
checks to pay
living expenses
 
in order
to climb out
of the deep hole
four five six
all day long...

nothing concluded 163

who knew it would
take all ten years
to figure out what I knew
then no now
when and how
 
lost but found ten years
the experiment
proved nothing concluded
it's all predictable
downward plunge
 
noticed the stars tonight
and the first quarter
blocked three out
with our globe
thought you would want
 
to see it too
I know it's cold
but just me and you
under the stars
one a night like this
 
I couldn't think
of anything more
romantic—too cold
so I remain
nothing concluded...

nothing concluded 162

another night of
frozen tears
thirty degree
drop in twelve
hours time
 
sun rain and wind
then darkness
overhauls the whole
confusion the moon
shines it's closest star
 
face bright night's version
of blue sky—black
nothing concluded
confused honestly painting
poetic prose
 
on lined canvass
put a call in to whomever
might listen this time of night
they said you would
know by now
 
fourteen years
and you would think you
would learn something else
five years of higher education
out behind the public pool
 
frog pond nearby
married now
degree still bachelor
ninety-eight
too hot for the page
 
confusing confusion
with understanding
war with peace
liberation with annihilation
safety with ultimate control
 
how many liberties
will be lost without
full disclosure
on subjects
never investigated
 
random scattered
pieces of history
erased because
the nature of the beast
is hidden evil
 
nothing twenty-two years
ago didn't tell us
before we know it
windows turn to bars
and not the kind that'll serve you
 
overpriced and under aged
would it ever matter how
many die all part
of the tail the dog will
never catch nothing concluded...
 

nothing concluded 161

eleven days
without so much
as a thought this way
that was unnecessary
approaching three years
 
they were lying from
the get go
nothing concluded
and so many perish
still no explanation
 
only questions
how many sons and daughters
how many more
are they all worth the lie
the next one too
 
arriving soon enough
time to think
pure freedom even if
the leader of the republic
wants to be a dictator
 
the constitution won't allow
for an imperial take over
how will he attempt
to over step his bounds
forget what you have been told
 
they admit they lie
their desires override
reality and they hope everyone
is busy that day
and doesn't notice
 
not paying attention
until a small child
points and notices that
the president isn't wearing any clothes
nothing concluded...

nothing concluded 160

the tenth year

of the five liners

thoughts stuck

between other

random notes

remember those days

just after turning twenty-one

trying to understand

what some of it meant

ten years later now

my own cup of coffee

in the house my grand father

built and died in

nothing concluded

continuing the pensive

behavior in the basement

just as hands on

just not as useful

ten years ago things were

different

though similar enough

that changes were made

both simple and subtle

ten years later

wishing the obvious

what I know now

knew it then

wish I knew something

self-absorbed

or just absorbed

into all the people and things

that are closest to me

the five liners of thought

how many pages before something

nothing concluded...

basement rattle

down here in the homemade cloud
alone door shut and the dog barks on the other side
new year thoughts split like wood under ax
first person poetry heard all around
nothing new just constantly improved upon
time reels back a punch to the throat
layer after layer building like a carpenter in Brockton
one foot sideways 24 north or south dead end highway
go around instead out the back door
around the house in through the front
interrupted poetry broken by time lapses
who could tell with that hell of a basement rattle
the clock faces stares at eyes watery
from the cloud bubble transaction
transformation into first thought
progeny a sort of metamorphosis
no eye witness eye in smoke
in lungs in the coffee basement rattle
too loud and someone shuts the door
always a little cooler downstairs even in the summer
humidity or cold winter freeze
sister gone south to the equator
the sun will cook her skin
getting lost in the green felt like this before
sitting at this pool table as a desk
too right or to write regardless
day or night said it all before...

an hour behind

about an hour behind

schedule an appointment

made me embarrassed

to be standing still

reached for something

to keep me standing

not far from falling

like rain from sky

bricks from a tower

too close to the sky

to keep me straight narrow

path from there to now

need to harness all the energy

possible to blast these poetics

into some sort of freedom

it's available you have

to harness the energy

and concentrate the mind

relax with patience

the body will repair itself

let it breathe

an hour behind

might truly cause some confusion

down the road a bit...

nothing concluded 159

how many days without

a thought as to where

this might take him how many

nights until the saga complete

how many days

before he makes it up

ten stairs to type and

how many nights alone

honest connection made

hold on eternal if he can

how many days without

a thought on the direction

headed nothing concluded

as if it is nineteen ninety-six

all over again

how many days and how many thoughts

have really changed before eyes

with no tears and how many potholes

need to be filled like these poor lungs

with smoke

how many nights will this body

put up with the cough

and the strain as a serial poet

writing thinker or thinking writer

someone with a lot on the mind

nothing concluded

as if he is still twenty-one

in my mind pass me

the bottle and don't mind the smoke

can always count my friends

on one hand

leaving the other one

free to do this

nothing concluded

even if it ends someday

how many

right about now

nothing that predictable

will do there must be

something left to say

someday it could be

considered epic for now

and until the death

just my serial

nothing concluded...

south of 33

another night but the moon has yet to rise

above the darkened street

when will they update the satellite image

three tremendous trees have fallen

one controlled one caused no damage at all

another night head down on the pool table

turned into a desk for the winter months

doesn't have to wear shoes and a jacket

another night head aches

all around water instead of caffeine tonight

sitting in a pile of his own thought

both new and old

random but completely organized

as well should be a scattered mess

of a mind somehow he still

the late night boat ride

south of 33 the river runs

below the street and feed the enormous tree

planted in a bed of moss

creeping closer each year

to the back door

another night with an electric heater

at his feet and can't get the plumber

to finish the job paid for

never-mind more heat down below

south of 33 came one time

to gather things left behind

doesn't realize the torture

chamber he could create

in all this space created junk pile

another night of frustration

knowing the saying heard once

that failure is merely

practice for success...

nothing concluded 158

last name begins with an L

so it's only right

that eye light up the night

nothing concluded

just means when one's done

move on to another one

unfortunately

someone sleeps

high above

and he thinks below

trying hard to not

be offended by

the poems no one reads

even when given as

gifts of thoughts

nothing concluded

the song eye will sing

until no more ink from pen

breath from lungs

late night session

smoking out all

the days impurities

bet it's close to midnight

falling down

feels like only five minutes...

nothing concluded 157

once so random journal

takes on a voice

of it's own no dread

left on top

back from the beginning

as good a place

as any to begin

again over twice

as fast as when it's

warm to the bone

quite the opposite from

how the saying goes

then again

everyone fell for the lie

down into the pit

where nothing is even

noticed never mind concluded

the same place

where the dog somehow

finds some rest

he grinds his teeth

and has resorted

to long nights

on the back porch

alone with so much thought

very little to say

the sound of rain

can be heard out the window

another silent night

nothing concluded

as if December

and every one is Christian

do they even know

what they believe

inside out searching

nothing concluded

ten ten

oh five

need to stop

using the crutch...

a triangular hour approaches

just to make a point
he'll walk away with his head in the air
pulled through the water at times
ending up with more smoke
than intended and darkness takes over
earlier than any day yet
the rain soaked afternoon
twisted the five o'clock sky
a little pink a little orange
around the triangular hour
talks of darkness overcome
with the grim reality this night
would bring if it could but
it exists only as the background
for all experiences

just to make a point
he will stick out his foot
when you walk by watch out
he doesn't care what initials
your name has he knows the real JC
tough guy

just to make a point
without proving anything
at all costs trying to save face
just like the rest the hour
of one hundred eighty degrees
passed out around
seven now it's nearly ten
but soon it will be four and twenty
all over again

just to make a point
no one thinks it can be done
after nearly fourteen years
just like that it could be done
and who would hold up a red
octagon and it's a good thing
geometry was taught when it was
else he might never know

just to make a point
he grabs the purple pack
and grinder he knows
it's ten thirty but there is something
about the fingerprint on a page
makes the need to investigate imperative
not to mention unavoidable
from where he stands...

Brockton water torture

nothing wrong with staying in the same place

all day long who is here to say otherwise

he would be at work for someone else of course

sick and tired of the monotony

flip through the big book

just to get a word in before nine

bells toll and the church north west

stops ringing at six but the trains run until eleven

can be heard across town three stops every night

in the same place listening

a new thought for every day even if he's got

to flip the big book to get things started

constantly trying to think of ways to write

his way out of the hole he has dug deep

into the night and it's just nine now

avoiding thoughts work related that's all

everything else is allowed to roam freely

organically grown thought but missing

the Colorado vitamin shots one a day

staring into the product of Dali's mind

and hand it to people who interpret

things differently every time

seen and never heard together

like a couple of buffalo outside behind him

water from the AC drips on the roof

sort of Brockton water torture somehow...

nothing concluded 156

especially without the dread

colder on a would be

perfect night stars blazing too

which are the appropriate

ones for tonight

nothing concluded

one volume longer

into tonight journal

prose has replaced

a lot of the random thought

how many volumes must

be full before seriously

considered the writer

eye know I am

there in the mind now

nothing concluded simply

because it will never be done

always room for more

(improvement) if necessary

up or down

at every cross road

leaving plenty of time

for any amount of indecision

brought out at last or first time

nothing concluded...