She Never

She don't like that and she wears tall
shoes. Her
arms cover
everything.
She'll comb your hair with
her voice. Her skin is lighter than
dawn. Her eyebrows never leave your
mind.

Her ankles could wash and wax a moving
car. She breathes
California when she stands in Michigan, and
man, forget it

you'll never even meet her.

more about the job and

Seriously, you're Medicaid and you can't answer my
questions about your policies and
have never heard of what I'm
talking about
even though it's what you
told me to do last
time we spoke? Can I
speak to your superv -
no, he's busy. Can you transfer me to
another department? No - you're all
equally trained experts on all
aspects of Medicaid. Do
you know things? I was on
hold 38 minutes for this? Well, can
you just make a note that
he's in the hospital and will
not be coming out in a good way?

But the weather has started to
break and
I walked smoking through the
park in the afternoon on
three inches of snow. The sun
was a white spot on the other side
of cloud cover
past the hills behind
Highland Park. I imagine this
place in the summer, full of
people and sound. I am not so
used to writing in
questions.

the moment of today

Maybe I'm not cut out
for work. Drink drink
drink. The nurse called tonight and
somebody else
has cancer. Drink drink drink.
In his guts and liver and lymphs -
maybe a few weeks left. Drink
drink drink. This is one of the
first guys I met at work. We
went fishing and talked about
girls and complained to
eachother. The worst kind of
cancer. Drink drink drink.
I know his family.
Drink drink drink.
Tomorrow it's my job to tell people
he's going.
Tell everyone he
lives with. Drink
drink drink.
He smiled and laughed today in
the hospital. I'm not sure I'm
up for
this. Drink drink.
Drink.

So I'm getting drunk. It's Thursday.
Long weekend ahead.

You know his family doesn't want
to tell him? They don't
want
him to know he's dying.

We went fishing and
talked about girls.

Drink.
Nobody died at my old job, no
matter how much I wanted
them to. Drink drink.

I'm going to sleep. In
the morning I'll do
my terrible work.

He's dying; I'm not.

it ain't rock-n-roll

jazz that's all there is
jazz jazz jazz

'trane, monk, miles...

i listen to jazz when i need
out

it helps the sharp corners
makes em smoove

what the mind is made up of

Everytime people start getting smart and
thinking they know shit I think
about when a kid told me he lived in
Salvador and saw his neighbors
dragged out into the street and shot then how
years later that same kid shot another
kid in a gang fight in LA. The kid was
crying when he told me, but now he's locked
up. That's what I think about when
everyone's smart and I start
to feel smart.

late night poem

late night
early morning
(2am)

a bottle of beer
the sounds of
'Trane & Monk
spill out of my
radio speakers

the light from
a fat white candle
flickers as a
soft subtle winter
breeze blows
through my opened
window

& my cat watches the
shadows dance
on the wall

DWC

waiting

part i

there is no wish like
the wish for people

no disappointment
like those who never come

like christmas, years ago,
waiting for a knock at the door

"he'll be there around 1"
they said to me

"make sure you're home"

and so i waited for the knock
and opened my door

not to a man, but a mattress,
a gift without presence

(the irony of all cruel
ironies)

part ii
and i think about that now,
the disappointment,

seeing you last night
in the middle of sleep:

coming home from home
to spend our holy day

(the new year)

together

i wake up on that same,
once new mattress

alone

(the irony of my
ironies)

still waiting for you

part iii

bleary-eyed
i reach for my glasses

and wait for the world

to focus

in

i have waited my life away

Ode to Science

Every time I count my coins
and roll them into fodder
some are too dirty to spill through the modern counter
I take them to the kitchen
and mix them in a jar
of vinegar and baking soda
and I am transcended
science class
fourth grade
spectacular and naive
homemade bombs in a jar

why the mustard just blew up all over my breakfast

I don't
know, something
about
science.

Fool Moon Solstice

On the shortest day of the year
and the longest night
under a luminous ball of quicksilver and secrets
two old lovers escape to the edges of the earth
Where dolphin pray and crustaceans gather to listen in the waves
She is feverish and mourn-full, the darkness always does this to her
He is taken by the sound of the dolphins, the crashing of the waves
He throws a line into the breakers and tries to hold on,
to the edge of the earth
She undresses under the veil of darkness
and like a slippery skate sails into the song of the dolphin
naked and numb
unseen

What the boy said

This is the song they taught us -

I honor the fast and my hair is
dark. When I am old enough my beard
Will sleep on my chest. Mother cooks bread
in the morning and stew in the evening.
Father does not drink or smoke.
All my brothers have done as they were told.
All my sisters will have many children.
I visit my uncles in the spring.

I lean numbers from school and
words from the book.

I honor the fast and my hair is
dark. Follow the road out
of town and past the wells. Go beyond the
date palms. On the left is the plot where they
dry dates. Turn there. Over the
hills is the place of the Godless men.
I will know the place when I
see it. Take the heavy car to the gate
and God will be with me.

I learn numbers from school and
words from the book.

I honor the fast and my hair is
dark. God will keep me.
There will be no pain. Do not
have fears. I do not do this for me;
it is for God and the world.
I will gaze upon the face of God
eternally. My people will sing verses
about me. The men will mourn me and the
women will lament me. I will sit on the
eternal side of God, the place without
numbers or words.

responding to the girl from the galaxy

I would say and you
would know that
away's the place to
go. fasten the
fastens on your coat. just think -
all the other places
you could sip warm water
and blow your breath across the surface.
we
blow across the surface.
we
are snow that
doesn't stick
to other snow.
the
most plentiful kind.


but without sticking,
never know.

then another season
with its weather. all
the growing things will
come back.
the giant things will
show their greens

while we
wait in
another hemisphere.

now we have forgotten them; then
they us. but
this place is so small
we can do nothing but follow,

and trail.

it's over coat

part i
listen, i remember the stories:
the kids scuttling up snow-spotted
hills,

barefoot,

slipping through the mud
where cold had turned to
slush.

silent,

he carried them to the hospital
where doctors trimmed
away

dead toes.

part ii
but i am cold now too
sheltered as i am in this
compress

of steel

bare legs and all
i feel sick some days
ashamed

others

shivering when behind
me hangs all that's required
to button up

and walk away

the truth from

hey
I haven't said anything
lately because
I got a dog and
his name
is Rummy.
Things
were rough
a little now it's
better. Not
because the
dog, just
because it's better.

And I
tried to rearrange my
life. You do
that every so
often or
you don't.
The computer is out of the cold
room and somewhere
accessible. So I will
reappear more here.
And maybe where you are when I
have time.

There was ice outside today and the light from the
lights spread and cracked. The
bricks were slick.

I never wrote more
poems about my trip to
see the girl we burned.
It's
still tied up in my
head.

I am very afraid that
Rummy will be the
best dog I have ever
had. Two previous dogs
saved my life. Once literally
and the other actually.
I am afraid to think
it, but it may be true.

support

in my ear
a voice keeps reciting
this poem

monotone like a
mantra

"we are still experiencing
heavy call
volume.

we apologize for the
inconvenience.

you may find the
information you need
on our web site.

please continue to
hold for the
next available agent."

winter, almost

a dire prognosis

like a terminal disease

waiting for the snow

in memory of hayden carruth (to honor stacy)

stacy's "best poem ever" reminded me of this
gem by hayden:

"the last poem in the world"

would i write it
if i could?

you bet your glitzy
ass i would!

all over the world

been all over the world
today,

all over the world, never even
left town,

the holiday season, too much
traffic on the road,

wouldn't want to risk an accident
(especially if you've had a little
something to drink).

got an email from a friend in
mexico,

drew me right in with his
descriptions of

warmth and strangeness and
senoritas and
possibilities.

that's somewhere else.

does that count?

Mole Skin Musings on Work, a Short Poem

blank stare
wide eyed indifference
forced exhuberance

DWC

About me because I can't talk about her.

I had six days in one day and am trying to compress it down. I think it'll probably boil down into 2-3 more poems. wanted to make it one long one, but it's late and the day's not over yet. there's some good stuff, but I don't want to blow it. I've probably already fucking wrecked it. welcome rick.


All day my
shoulders seemed much thinner. I
cast less shadow. I
disappeared in
shady places.
I got drunk as I could off
$30 in a fake Mexican
restaurant. I took the
four lane to the two lane and
pissed in 2 cornfields and at
the edge
of one cemetery. Passed
the last grain trucks of
the season. Found my way
to Winamac through highways and
towns I don't know (still pretty
drunk). Not to say that
I'm proud. Just trying to
keep up with the
terrible everywhere.
I think I was still on the
clock. Drove past
a wholesaler I bought
impatiens off ten
years ago. To find what
in Winamac waiting
for me?
Last week a boy
took an overdose
in my friend's house. They
talk like I was
supposed to save
the kid.
He's still not buried.

Daylight savings. It's dark
here at six. I
don't understand what
we're saving the light for.

brief introduction

a blog for poets
awesome possibilities
i'll try to fit in

haiku seasonal

i

grey heavy wet clouds
cold damp wind cuts through my soul
glasses fog with rain

ii

leaves become colored
bright against the gun metal sky
they crunch as i walk

iii

time slows down falls back
pumpkins decorate porches
little ghosts spook me

DWC

blue skies for cold days

part i
this city is alive
with the day of
the dead

i think

watching from
two stories
up:

a princess and a witch
hold hands to cross
the street

(having no
part in old fairy
tales)

joining a group
of ghouls and
presidents and
superheroes

to a similar
end

part ii
but it is autumn
now and winter
hereafter

i think

there will be
blue skies for
cold days

and radiators that
hiss like spring
rainstorms

to bookend the
day

was shalott better
than this? i wonder,
standing to take
one long, last
look out of the
window —

and close the
blinds