Late Night Call

Calling me from my room
I get out of bed
and get into my car
I begin driving
through the night
Passing easily through
empty streets
Mile by mile until
the land opens up to
the black sea
flanking my left
At least I come to rest
With windows rolled down
I begin to listen
to the waters calling
Night after night
my blood is drawn
to this shore
I listen as if it were
the only sound
worth listening to
in this life

before the drive

Sitting in my car
looking through the windshield
flecked with rain 
resting on the glass
The world glimmers wetly
for a moment 
before I turn on the wipers
and see things as 
they are once more

Moving Light

Accelerating through darkness
Lights only illuminate
A few feet in front of me at a time

My foot stays steady on the gas
The fatigue of a late night drive
Begins to burrow into my marrow

Everyone else sleeps through 
Dark and passing miles
A moving point of light aloft

On an endless black sea
I dare not close my eyes
Fifteen more miles 

Night Bloom

Nights of endless wandering

Through lamplit boulevards

Cities blend into one another

Indistinct and uniform

I open my windows

Cool evening air

Tousles my hair

Heartbeat steadies

To the time of the ballad

Braking to a stop

Impatient heart

Heavy foot

Green sets me alight

Forward rush

Into midnight light

Deep breath

Exhale

Blood of the city

From my marrow

It comes

Flows through me

A creature

At home in this place

Sweet Moon

Kiss me as a lover 

8/29/16

11:22pm

Brotherhood of the Black Moon

He cruised north on Vista Del Mar with the Pacific
flanking his left side. Wind tousled his hair. The music
was off. All he could hear was the waves on the beach
and the tires over the asphalt.

As he neared his destination an airplane flew overhead
from the nearby airport. Briefly, he looked over and saw
its form buried in the dark skies. He slowed and pulled
over as he came to a stop.

In rapid succession, the headlights and engine were killed.
A car sped past. He could feel it's velocity through the
sudden shudder of the car. The lights of oncoming traffic
blinked into the darkness and barreled close and away.

There was no reason for him to be there this late. He didn't
want to be home. There was nothing in his room and at
least here he could listen to the waves and let his mind
forget about itself for a few moments.

His phone buzzed and the screen lit up. It was a text.
"At the Black Moon having a drink. Drop by."
He wrote, "Sure. Be there in 15." He turned the key
in the ignition only enough to turn on the stereo.

A loud cymbal crash followed by rumbling toms
and the clattering of percussion beating through the
speakers. From the first note he knew it was "A Night In
Tunisia" by Art Blakey and the Jazz Messengers.

He turned the key and the engine awoke. There were
no cars in either direction. A quick u-turn over the
solid double yellow lines and he was headed south
towards the Black Moon.

He needed the company. He needed the drink.
What a day. What a week. Wayne Shorter's sax
cut through the wind as the two sounds intermingled
to create a new voice.

What kind of night would it become? It didn't matter.
How could it? Eventually he lost track of the waves,
the road, as though nothing but he and that song existed.
His company was anticipated. He hurtled forward

until the mild suburban facade of the area showed
it's face again, and when it did, how he longed to rip
the skin from it. At last, the Black Moon came into
view. There was nothing to be won or lost.

Unwinding the Thread from the Spool

The price of gas goes up and down
while alcohol is affordable enough
to keep you just behind the line of insanity.

Truth does not need a pretty image
or metaphor to convey it's message.

Truth is blunt like a sledgehammer
breaking bricks into bits.

The road drives me numb and mad
in alternating measure.

A young man pulled out his hand
like a gun and pointed at me

and I was furious. Not at the threat
of violence and death

but at the demands of our ill times
on us all

and the prospect of my future
becoming a severed branch.

I'm drinking alone because
I need this meditation

even if the methodology is flawed.
I would be with you tonight

if only we were not so far apart
you and I.

I don't wish to die
but I need to prove to myself

the will to live and smash
apart the lingering grasp

of my self-doubt.

After Midnight

it becomes easier to drive
through city streets.
Drive fast enough
and lights blur
into the darkness.
You yawn because
you are supposed to be
sleeping and your body
wants to remind you.
There is a red light ahead.
You approach
but do not let your foot
touch the brake.
Playing chicken
finally
the light relents.
You continue un-
obstructed.

small change

waiting for red to become green

impatient foot rests its weight

a change of light

a man ignores the red

Driving the 5

It is morning and I cannot sleep.
I drove through vast fields
of emptiness
to return to this place.
Now I sit
waiting to rest
or move to action.
It will be one
or the other.
I can see
the shadow of a hand
moving closer.

Mileage

A pair of handprints pressed into the glass
on the passenger side of the car-
smeared ever slightly,
a handmade Valentine's Day card faded
in a rarely touched nook,
a polaroid picture slipped between
scraped and scuffed cds,
accumulated ash and dirt
from driving miles
and miles with the windows
rolled down,
my youth draining
into the climbing numbers
of the odometer.
A car as weathered
as my mind.
It carries on as though
the check engine light
hasn't been staring at me
the last fifteen-thousand miles.

Spectator/Performer

I walked out of the bar drenched in sweat belonging

to myself and others. The band had just finished playing

in the past five or so minutes. My body was not yet aware

of the aches it would remember the next morning. 

My ears echoed with the peal of bells ringing

in celebration of some victory; in a way that is what

the evening had been. The cool sea breeze hit my damp

body and electrified my skin once more. There were

a few tattooed, drunk, and deafened people leaning 

against the front of the building. I walked briskly 

to my car. I was parked just around the car. 

When I unlocked the door I was alone with my ringing

ears. It felt alien to be sitting down after standing

and fighting for footing for so long. I held my ground

during the band's set as best I could. I was up front

the entire time while the crowd surged heavily

and bruised my flesh. I tried to think of some music

to put on and could think of nothing that would

be a suitable follow-up. The keys fired up the ignition

as the engine shuddered to life. I rolled down 

the windows and began to drive through the streets,

wind gradually drying my body. I made it to the other 

side of town in 20 minutes flat. As I walked to the door

I could feel the blood surge to my hands and forearms,

the veins began to bulge. I couldn't wait to be up there.

Two Thoughts From The Drive Home

I.

Insects with halogen eyes

stare unblinkingly

as their red-lit rears run by.


II.

cold static burns

your finger tips

touch my lips

What Is Missed

a waking amnesia,

sunlight brings

focus once more.


perspectives shift,

align, as needed.


everything rearranged.


the drive to work,

a new flower bed.


speeding by, new

blossoms don't worry

if you don't notice.

brake brake brake

a sudden interruption.

screeching rubber,

the burning smell

of searing asphalt.

double-time rhythms
# # # # # # # # # # #
poundpoundpound

a throbbing reminder

of the continued state

of being.