A Rising of No Consequence

Hazy light and hot air circulating

on a humid morning. The fan has

been on all night, whirring back

and forth. You slept with no sheets,

the fan blowing air onto your legs

from time to time. Night crawled

into your thoughts through sounds

familiar to daytimes sibling. You

sit up, drink water from the cup.

Day can only grow hotter, will

grow hotter. Feet touch tile, you

yawn instinctively. Everything

and nothing all share the same

starting point.  

Worry

Worry came in for a visit and sat down on the couch.

She picked up the doily from the armrest and stared

at it. I asked her "Would you like a drink?"


I could see white enamel as she said "That would be

great." She put the doily back and said "Do you have

lemonade?" The corners of her mouth spread to their


fullest. Her cheeks glowed red warmth. "I should have

some" I said. I walked to the refrigerator and saw the

open box of lemonade I picked up last week.


The glass held a pink sea of sugared lemon as I brought

it to her. She nodded to me as she took the glass from

my hands and pressed it to her lips.


Her shapely legs crossed as I sat down opposite her.

It was always hard to say when she would come by.

She always overstays her welcome.

The Eternal Season

Grief stains like red wine spilt

on a white linen shirt.

Loss calculated by

what-ifs and almost-weres.

Eternity, a place

of safe conjecture

for those still running

from Marathon.

A warmth that brings

no comfort

begets a blossoming flower

that endures a lifetime.

A mountain-top in Winter,

A desert in Summer,

Branches in Fall.

Spring…

when?

Don't paint yourself in Black and White.

When 14 was 7.

We are melting in place.

6:45 a.m.

It's an earlier morning than you're used to.

The whirring sound of fan blades,

summer has been warmer than usual.

An elongated y a w n d r a w s i t s e l f 

out. No words uttered. If they were,

to whom? The news has nothing new

to say, recycled stories repeat in cycles.

Good morning. Good morning.

Dangling Carrots

We are pleased with ourselves.
Couched in luxury unthinkable
by generations barely decayed.

Problems persist, happiness
illusory at worst, fleeting at best.
It's definition recently revised.

Perfect planes of plastic, baubles
to be held, admired, possessed,
litter thought and aspiration.

Convenience is a given, sense
gathers dust in gray corridors,
falls asleep on the watch.

Glowing light as an anesthetic,
soothing, calming, the hand
of the unseen, falling lids,

the mind at rest.

Rope

Pull the rope.

Its frayed ends

gripped in your fists.

The knot tightens,

no more to give.

Staring out the window

and into the glare of a mirror

Bringing a Bear to a knife fight.

elemental

The color of the water

the movement of the sun

The volition of the tides

the color of the skies

The voice of the wind

the chatter of the leaves

The blood of the rivers

the passage of the clouds

The sadness of the prairies

the ages of the canyons

The children of the fruit trees

the sympathy of the moon

The tides passing soon

Rock scraping against rusted iron.

Faulty Navigation

Navigating imbalance-

a foot slipping inside a worn out shoe.


The lizard scurries along the bottom

of the wall, hides behind the fridge.


Tossing within sheets, the unbound

landscape in turmoil.


Pauses for thought, searching for

that which lives elusively.


Roads buckle in the heat as

plates slip beneath.

Summer Canines

Pity our heavily-furred friends on hot summer days

as they swelter in their skins. Coats built to endure

harsh winters to conserve warmth, not the rain 

parched climates of former and future deserts. 

Two Way Mirror

Pictures of women you've loved,
their boyfriends, fiancées, husbands,
and children posing in their happy homes

you realize how the years have passed
slowly enough for them to find partners
and bear children.

Expected lives of normalcy and tranquility,
easy lives marred by the uneasy nature of Life.
The world is filled with them.

You begin to wish it were you.
That you were their boyfriend or husband.
That you were holding your first newborn.

You wonder what it is you hold on to.
What of yours has been so valuable
to forsake that world of experience?

Is it the life you seek?
You don't know-
can't know.

So many happy lives
all staring back-
wondering how you've been.

Wanting

The last I heard about L was that she was married and had a
small child after moving back to her home state. We had worked
together for a few years and had gotten to know each other fairly
well in that time. I always thought she was beautiful. She had a
southern accent that was charming every time she spoke. It only
added to her beauty.  We hadn't seen each other since she had
moved. Thinking about her filled me a sense of regret over what
had never been.

 ***

She was lying face down in my bed, the sun was streaming in a muted
tone through the white curtains at my window. She kicked her legs up
and turned her head as I walked in through the door. She smiled.
I did a double take when I realized who it was.

"What are you doing hear?" I said.

"I thought I'd come visit you for a little bit." she said as the corners of
her mouth turned upward.

"How did you find out where I was living?"

"It wasn't too hard. I really wanted to surprise you."

"Where are you staying at while you're here?" I said.

Her smile widened to show the white of her teeth.

"I figured I'd stay with you since you have a bed and all. That is if
you don't mind, of course."

"I don't."

"Are you going to just stand there, or are you going to come over?"
I hadn't moved since I froze in place at finding her. I walked over
to the bed and took my coat off and placed it on the chair of my
desk. I took off my shoes and set them near the edge of the bed.
She moved her body from the center of the bed to make room for
me. I got into the bed and laid on my back. She rolled on top of
me and said "I've missed you."

She held me close. Our noses were about to touch.

"I've missed you too," I said.

A Night at the Black Crow

"Shut the fuck up. She's at least a six." he said.

"Why?" the other man said.

"Her rack. Just look at her rack!"

The second man watched as she pulled bottles and
poured them into glasses. Her breasts hung large over
the rest of her body. Her cleavage plunged deep and
brought in good tips on that kind of night. She had just
started working there again. The two men could barely
hear each other.

"Her tits are sagging." the second man said.

"What? You've never been around older women?
You probably can't even remember the last time you
had a tit in your mouth." said the first man.

"Fine. She's not bad. I'm more of an ass man."

She had just turned around to ring up a tab.
The second man stared at her jeans with an empty hunger.

"Her ass is too flat."

"You're a picky motherfucker,"said the first man.

They finished their beers. The first man put the empty
bottles in the well of the bar, a sign for another round.
She finished serving the people at the end of the bar,
it was a bunch of young girls from the neighborhood
who had grown old by staying there. She saw the two
empties when she turned around. She pulled the cooler
open and pried the caps off the two bottles and set them
in front of them as she grabbed the empties with her
other hand.

They sat there in the midst of the blaring jukebox, awash
in cigarette smoke, the roar of a late night silencing them.

Won't / Will

I won't talk with my mouth.
I won't touch things with my hands.
I won't sing with my voice.
I won't taste with my tongue.
I won't think with my mind.
I won't love with my heart.
I won't see with my eyes.
I won't cry with my tears.
I won't walk with my feet.
I won't listen with my ears.
I will disappear.

10 Lines of Etc, etc...

1.) Loneliness tastes like white chalk.

2.) A perfect peace.

3.) Walking/waking into reality.

4.) Steady hand, fluttering heart.

5.) Character name: Ambrosio

6.) We are not good to each other much less ourselves.

7.) Violation vs. Annihilation

8.) The body slows twice as fast as the mind does.

9.) ...and they look like young girl
     getting ready for sunshine on the beach.
     One carries a baby in her arms.

10.) For a bartender in a neighborhood dive bar she is beautiful.

Finding beauty in my tears.