Risk v. Reward

after just a few hours

the smell of

your skin on my skin

had faded

replaced by gasoline

cigarettes and

cheap, rest-stop soap

and hand-sanitizer

I kept trying to find you

on my clothes,

the collar of my shirt,

under my fingernails.

you weren't there.

blurred, instead by so many

state lines and miles,

gas stations and

grease traps.

later that night

as I laid restlessly

clutching the blanket that you claimed

as your own

on our trip out of town,

I found you again

before finally drifting off,

the smell of your face-wash hidden

somewhere in that blanket or

maybe only in my mind.

I'm not sure.

but now

your scent is gone from me

and you are hidden as well

blurred by state-lines and miles

and I'm left on

dark roads, alone, unsure of

the ground beneath my wheels

and I should've said something,

anything before you split town.

I should've kissed you goodbye

on at least 3 different occasions.

I should've jumped from the bridge

and, you're right when you say

I don't take enough risks.

And maybe I'll take more of them

if you take a chance on this.

Aries

Aries

make the best lovers

because we love to love.

Two fires flickering,

red hot, licking

at each other’s flames

and burning

each other down.

Stumbling Upon Dharma

Alone

just me and my wheels

against dark roads;

crossing state lines.

I didn’t realize,

until the last leg of my trip;

until my head was finally clear;

no longer filled

with road maps,

music, and anxiety

about my bills or

about how I could

possibly make it another

20 or more hours

on the road

alone,

when all that was left

was you,

Dharma.

What else would I call it?

The Virtuous Road.

The road that

lead me to you.

The road that

leads me

away from you.

I try to find some meaning

in things I see,

in my experiences.

I keep coming away with patience,

a virtue by

all definitions,

as you are virtuous,

and I am

still learning to be, but

I’ve never met someone

that makes me

want to be as good

as you are.

My Mother The Mountain

I drive along
pushing from 60 to 70 up to 80
mph
and I close my eyes

I am driving by sound
and the feel of my tires running
in the tracks worn into the
highway

my arms lock in front of me
and I feel the cool air blowing
of the mountain I am gliding down,
and I wish I was the mountain

eternal and eroding
solid and fragile
and I honk my horn occasionally
to warn any drivers nearby

I slide the car into neutral
and my right hand fumbles
on the steering column
and slides the key out

then I coast to your street
and your window is open
with that sad mystic music
dispersing into the neighborhood

I let my arms fall
but I don't open my eyes
and I think about that mountain
and its enduring wait

loretta built skylines in her hotel by lamp light

nothing like falling asleep at the wheel
theres a monkey skull on the freezer shelf
begging for a suede handout
with a fistfull of fish and a paranoid stand off
platinum nuances stoking my ego
then a word to the right from the left set in motion
all the beauty of stagnance and the pieces of perfect
got a drum of pure misery and two quarts raw sympathy
baking in a coal fire stove
got me running got me hiding got to be more than a principal
all adaptations taste awful in introduction
but theres road weary criminals
and essential bad gurus
theres a sandwhich shop laced with a decades indignities
and the farmers dry tabacco shell peas with the little uns
while the missus play footsy with the visiting vagabonds
its a whole new world out there man, and forgive the expression
but tomorrow is hideous while today seems just ugly
and yesturdays fair as it hustles away
but isnt it the charm that brings the eyes to the fire
and the blind all the while offer no words of warning
the wisdom has run out of the cups and its fitting
cause the bottom fell out and the thirsts been outsourced

snow plow plantation

with ware of asphalt and backroad dust
my boots speak volumes of the search
slept in box cars and rail yards
beside rivers and the kindness of strangers

faces painted thick with road lust and sun stroke
mom and pop video store/gas station
in a town with three houses and one street light

there was nothing under all those rocks we over turned
no a glimmer of freedom in the oil slicked highways
lost with an atlas that was all destination and no journey

plastic palm trees and pink flamingos decorating the only vestiges of a forgotten generation
the malt shops and drive-ins abandoned by time
all the juke boxes link to itunes and the saw dust floors have been tiled over
a fist fight is a felony and a drag race is is close behind

protests and propaganda lead based toys new influenzas
a war in every living room for thirty some odd years and im tired of peeking out toward the horizon and burning my eyes

if you think you've seen the promise land, i promise your a fool

what soft grace in disregarding the disaster of the season
she's ill but carries handbag full of cure alls and redemption
theres no beauty left
we watched the last of it sail off into the final sunsets just before the switch from analog to digital but i think she could serve as a reminder at least
of the moment before the shithouse burned and the stench of truth caked our nasal passages...

one longstanding memory of dust and clay and rubarb she said what did you want to be before you realized it was over

red lights, blue lights,
glare

and i love the way
he dances
center stage
singing into the mic
greasy hair in face
the occasional break of a
drumstick
drummer,
wasted, shirtless and
slightly
off beat

and i love the way
you lean
and tap yer cowboy boots
as you play guitar
scarf dangling
off yer tight levi's

and i love the way
we scream
and drink
and sway
to garage rock nights

she feeds on the mystery,
no need to plead for answers

Two for Molly

Molly,
you were a vision
dancing in the kitchen
blown mind
sparks flying


Gypsy sits in stockings
staring up from Molly's feet
watching her gently pull
the bow across her cello strings

he was a shooting star
(torn jeans wide eyes hungry rock t-shirt)
she was a shooting star
(hips dreaming on their own, lips, a rushing)
for those two dazzling and finite masses
to meet
in all the far reaching intoxicating space
at
a
perfect angle

a miracle of impossible mathmatics


after quantum physics, after quantum physics shows you the possibilities, the possibilities of a coffee mug.

a coffee mug complete with the inked on recollection of a vacation destination with a fantastic climate for the middle aged.

after quantum physics
shows you the possibilities
of a coffee mug
piping hot
light and sweet
materializing
on a dashboard
at the exact moment
eyelids get to heavy

after quantum physics
we are forced to realize
that miracles
are not physical impossibilities
they are only
only

only

statistical improbabilities

and
those
happen
constantly

lesson from the roads of ny state

we drove 1300 miles
and every song we strained to hear
in the green dashboard glowing
was about us
and we learned

the earth makes granite
and men shape it

light will fall forcefully
on a woman's perfect form

fame is one end
punk rock is another

even water bends to gravity

time and distance
can be masters or slaves

love and poetry last forever

you can make yourself happy

the guitar hung
with all her locks
in the fashion
of angel wings
as they sleep
standing
its pale unfinished
face matching
the imperfection
of her shoulders

wood grain and freckles

in Ithaca
is a head shop
where her lips
admit she cannot
play a guitar
underneath
sandstone eyes

poem written on a lap top at a bar

I've not seen
anyone
who makes the dirtiest scene
shine like you do
maybe it's the colors
contrast in the background
maybe it's the words
that you gussy up
on their way through your lips

two tone trigger happy

its so cold when youre above me
politics and promises
we dance like no one else could
im alergic to the reasons
want to bury my devotion?
want to press your lips against the barrell
cough recoil blister
paint the palace with a thought
and flip the light switch for the audiance

You were always,

Always making Everest out of asphalt

Your ship was always sinking

All of your bridges:

set ablaze

3,000 miles between us

Or one breath,

It didn't matter

I remember the night

You came to me with

Fearful eyes, asking

"Are you mad?"

This is a birth defect

A sinner born

Into a world of sin,

Of broken glass,

Of fallen skyscrapers,

Of dirty grey air

Black lungs

And cigarette butts

But you were the tree growing

In the abandoned factory

There with the glass

Shards and

Rat carcasses;

The homeless shanties,

The unclean

And you were always making Everest out of asphalt

And me?

I was the king

Of the streets you roamed

every time I

grab you and I kiss you

it's not a smooth transition

it's not reminiscent

of some romantic movie

it's only awkward and

I'm always unsure

But as I pull you closer

and push you

against the brick wall

of an anonymous building

on an unnamed street

in the town where

we were both born

your fingers run through my hair

looking for something

maybe for a reason

to forget this sleepless city block

and all the people passing by

the basement stairs

are dark

but your light shines

through the door

leading me

back into your bed

and you're

hidin' 'neath the covers, waiting

your back turned to me, waiting

and I don't want to

be the first to lean in

and I don't want to

call you "baby"

So, I kiss your neck,

your light shining,

showing me the way

A poem was being written
while the planes were crashing
High up in the sky colliding
in the depths of a sad mans soul

jealous
of every girl
wide eyed blind eyed
that ever
craved desired clung to
obsessed over, fought for
endured saved suffered through
loved
me
at least partially
unrequited
those beutiful sad
dancing shining dying
wailing strong enduring
faithful crazy
sighing crying
struggling blind
mad incredible
women
are capable of a passion that these weak bones
can only dream wantingly of