Thawing Point

Thaw out frozen thoughts
shoulders hunched against the sleet
stride crunching on the downbeats
familiar haunts are blurring
Hurried northward daydreams don't
trickle south through Douglas Firs
But remember how our paths crossed?
Stargazers both--I balked first

4 blocks down, I'm held accountable
for crusade hypocrisies
I keep tucked in back pockets
and rolled up in uprolled sleeves

The sun returns, or so I'm told
but it's been evening for awhile.
And, if they're wrong, where are we then?

Left knowing we're left under miles
                         of mounting snow?
Left knowing we've got to stop--
                   but not one clue how to cope
Wondering where hours, weeks and years went
counting calendars we've peeled off walls
Counting marks on records
               marks on faces
Counting calendars
Tally scars--stubborn reminders
     of how we got where we are.

Ground my skyward thoughts
in the grid of frozen streets
I'll sink deep in the hoarfrost
coats the ground, turns steps to beats
I'll keep time, now, walking westward
hands in pockets, eyes on feet.
I'll remember how your breath looked
off of Brooks Street walking east.

Divin'

Nothing special left to say
 but got a hundred thousand words
A hundred thousand fireflies
     caged up behind the teeth

Quite a mouthful--Quite your shiver-
-ing and open up to speak
     If they should listen, this time
 Brand new words will greet their faces,
 reinforcing fond embraces with fresh breath
 and--any luck--a brace of good advice

1) Come around more often.
    We care and you forget
     Fast as years careen these days
     the months and weeks can get
                                 declensive,
                                   dent you,
Deepen lines on once-young faces--
So come around
Remember.

2) Stay in lofty spirits
    And surrender late debts
     List off last year's enemies
    Rip out that page and let
                       your clothes dry
                                dive in
Feet first if you want to; why not?
But do the diving.
Don't forget.

If not then mouth will open
     a hundred thousand sparking points
Released into the night to no one's
     sight or understanding

Noncommittal? Cop to mirrors
Reflection fades out grey to white
     Thickly fogging breaths will empty
out a chest and tile the night air
Wield an ashy look and when lakes
freeze over, find a way across
     to shining shores
     the water's span, a world away.

Acclimatizer

Write some words on my blank page face
They'll trickle down into my mouth
There they'll be slurred, but still flow out--
          now yours? now mine?
          Shared property?
Joint custody of low opinion
Seems ungainly, seems unwise
     when miles of snowfall separate
               by hundreds,
                      tens,
                    and ones.

Miles of squares and cylinders
Of circles, splotches, mandelbrots
in whites and blacks swarming and buzzing
     warring in the hissing static.

Hissing static, searing cold
Underdressed on Tuesday morning. Shivering
chattering teeth mouth curses, shattering
     winter air with whiskey breath
     and wishful thoughts.

Write words upon my blank-line lips--
     "Disloyal," "faithless," "stupid," "shameless."
They're falsehoods, true, but they're tattoos
I guess I'll wear them for a while.

Such lies flow down my throat
Now nameless but for lies, I'll turn
I'll the crawl the miles home.

Bighorn Nights

I can whitewash late night skies
Until they become blank pages
Fuckin' fling my name on firmament
Until God hands out C-plusses
With degree in hand, descend
          to Earth
But don't forget the lessons learned
These Bighorn nights all seem like dreams
until those dreams just don't match up.

No city streets tonight--
      though that might be my locale
The lake's at rest, but speaks with pines
          about tomorrow's yesterdays
And something deep inside of me
     knows names are nothing special
when a fellow writes on The Firmament.

Curmudgeon

I don't know why--but fuck tonight
And fuck this town
And fuck this guy that I'm becoming
And the steel ceilinged sky
     that never changes, night-to-night

And why, when streets all run together,
trickling off to asphalt seas,
     do nights out wandering get me nowhere?
Some elsewhere's
where I want to be.

I'll try to eat my plate of crow
and try to finish
though I'm full with midnight air
and half-cocked guesses
     and a frozen block of messes
 
Pull it off--that sky-steel-ceiling
Grinds a protest
Rusting clouds
     Might flake and rain an oxide winter
Flip the page up, one year down.

Zero Sum

Snowdrifts piling up
as brain melts down to zero sum
Not sure, now, what functions become
but, sure enough, what's piled high
          in streets will become flood

Slide past corners
wash away
These torrents still insistent shakes
The quaking stops, now reach the sea
and rock on shifting waves.

Peer through striations clouding clouds and
                                                     sunlight
Soak into liquid, reach the bottom
                  grasp the floor
Handfuls of silt melt out through wrinkling digits
Withered faces, pickled organs: zero sum

Trickle down through strata--
read the layers
peel them back
Then, at the core, can settle down.

Stop Titling All your Poems "Untitled."

How I hate to be a dick     havering ire and vitriol
But with great bombast    I must barbily insist
That you  stop that shit

5th & Bellevue

I want to spit my tongue
straight out into the wind
Because I'm better stricken dumb
  than smart-mouthed or thick skinned
Straight on to the edge of town
  I will chase my temper out
There, we'll talk about the "whethers"
  We'll talk the sun down
And I'll hope that's the last time we speak

Walk across the bridge on 5th Street
Half reflecting on past choices
Glimpse the moon on Goose Creek's surface
Spy a beaver.
Recall voices.
Like the one my father used before last April blew his chest up
Or ones I can't remember 'til I heave my boiling guts up
                           in some yard.

A tinny crash through piled leaves,
          I just want to make it home--
The S.P.D. are everywhere
          and we don't get along so very well

It's gotten late and gotten old.
It's gotten cold the heat is busted back where I make my home
I've hit my wall, I hit the pavement
Stand back up--two streets to go

5th and Bellevue ain't so bad
I'm nearly home.

Forecast

Another silent mid-Fall afternoon
Icy raindrops slash into my neck
The forecast calls for falling thumbtacks soon
One thin umbrella folding
Just 18 feet to the front step

With champagne acquainted
But forgot how to sip it
I slurp it down, eager,
'til I sit soaked and dripping

In time, fevered minds
will lower ears made for hearing
under waves of migraines
as mighty storm fronts are nearing

So I close down the bars and stumble home under awnings
Just to search for your name among newspaper cuttings
I've read the whole issue
and I've frowned over headlines
     put it down

Now, soaked or dry, I've got only time
I've wasted so much of it losing my mind
I'm blind in the rain that now sticks in my hide
     and they were right--
The forecast called for this squall to last all night

Another lonely mid-Fall morning walk
I follow gangs of specters in their steps
And, in the crunching gravel, ghosts will talk
November winds come howling
The second I leave my front step

The flavor's familiar
It comes back every morning,
when sunlight and sparrows
ignore tornado warnings

So the gales pick up strength
and a small bird's bones are hollow
The clouds lay oceans down
setting many sips to swallow

"So goodnight." I depart, but circle back in my wanderings
I'll always wind up here--shaky, ash-faced and yawning
I've read this before
it's printed on poor paper
     in red ink

I can't say why I'm still walking by
Those other front doorsteps that I never try
The thick thumbtack rain stopped but I can't stay dry
     the ghosts were right--
But if I find your name I might stop by.

Aches

We all say we battle demons
     but the truth is that I don't--
I invite them out for dances
     in the rain and then I soak
and stew and sit in consequence.
The same way every time--
when I swallow easy lies because
     I like the taste of wine
     a little better than the truth

So with calendar companions
     and clock ticks to count my wrongs
I'll just keep on counting seconds,
     hours and days until it stops
unless the seasons take too long
Like they do every time.
I can make no good defense for this
     but can apologize--
but that's no better than the truth.

There's no fight to win, sometimes
just aches to sift through, hits to take
Soaking wet, now, chimes a new year
Ringing bells the old to wake.

Econoline Vanity

Welcome to the club where there's no clapping
And shouting's just beneath you
     when you've raised yourself so high
And not a soul here is into moving--
Just standing with crossed arms
Because it's all "alright (you) guess."

Now be careful with your mouth corners,
     A smile could crack your face
You're not a joke unless you make one,
and we "don't get it anyway."
Your pedestal is comfortable
And comfort's where it's at--it isn't boring...
It's your birthright--
     You do things the rightest way.

Always so amused, but never laughing
You're not having any fun
     'cuz it's business anyway
Doing the right thing for the wrong reasons
Don't make you Chief-of-Scene--
Just chief on its list of flaws

Now, be careful with your egos, boys
They're fragile. Say you hate--
     all that fucking rockstar bullshit...
I'm getting all your "jokes," today
Your pedestal is lofty and
You built it all yourselves--"That's D.I.Y., kid."
You're all you've hated...
     You do things the "rightest" way.

Coagulating Blood

My nose, it just bled numbers--
Bled for years on years unnumbered
'Til I lost my youthful hunger
For anything but numbers
And coagulating blood

But with figures cold and clotting
And with innards now unknotting
I clear the corridors of blotting
And begin to finally breathe

Know pens belong on pages
In your pockets, in your hands
Not in lives, or heads or veins
Most certainly not in plans.

Better

The sun is awfully mean these days
     and the time for talk is past--
Fades aging, yellowed memories
     reminds nothing ever lasts

I told you once, You did not heed.
Perhaps I spoke too loud.
But I'll speak from the best side of me
If you'll cool your temper down

Who knows where we'll be in 5 years?
I can't have it be here
Can't pierce the brine and murkiness
But today, it's warm and clear.

So let's wreck our heads
     with Red Hook Lager,
Pedal down the road...
'Cause it's all that lies in front of us
that we can ever know

The clouds are overhead, my friend
     but, bleak as this day seems,
We will not came undone because
     we are made with stronger seams

If you tell me once, I'll try and heed
The very best I can
To what tops your list of memories
As we go hand-in-hand

You won't dwell upon next year
If I don't hole up in pride
That starts to seem so easy when
We think back on that time...

When we wrecked our bikes
     on Gould and Brundage,
Laughing, walked back home...
And gingerly cleaned bleeding knees
then watched movies alone

And everything's okay
     I prefer that, anyway
Everything's okay.
     And we're better off that way
It's better than okay

Better than okay.

Autumn None Too Soon

You're not the only one
Who wakes up feeling stuck
and hoping seasons fall asleep
to dream you up some better luck

When you and sidewalks talk
It's not an argument
They like to conjure up old wraiths
from when you stood in better stead.

So what's left now but one more Fall?
     And after that, it's more of the same again
Seasons come and go, that's how
the mountains get so tall

Too easy just to chock it up
           to thinning blood
and fast failing memory
Hard to say
     that each year's still weighing the same

We'll paint the town
          with a broad brush
          in brightest hues
But that won't change a thing.

Sepia Tone Headaches

Summer never ends, these days
And days drag on until
     You spend all night just wondering
When Fall will cool off all
     this lovely strain
     and sweet distress--
Will just bed down in burnt sienna
     and sleep off sepia tone headaches
so you can sleep all through next Summer,
     store your dreams in sweet October
--keep them fresh while the rest decays.

Flip the card and snowy streets
can keep you company through winter--
Keep you smiling through Hot Summer--
     because we don't have Spring no more--
Until it's time to wake at year's bedormance
                                           once again.

All the seasons start to look eerily alike
     after so long at one latitude,
But at least there's still one as speaks
     with seeming silence.

Framings

As the days drag out you're
     drawing lines and
Framing arguments
     (and hanging
     good ones on your walls)
For spending every day inside
You're seated safe beside yourself
     and viewing
Photos on the shelf
--they're framed so nice--
Remind yourself:
     the blame is yours
For shelving your connections
But they're justified defenses
     So why frame yourself?

Other folks can do that, fine.

We Grammarians

The motions--
We're going through emotions (right?)
'Cuz there's not a better thing
           to do on Sunday
night. This place has lost
            religion
            ritualistically
And I think, realistically, it's time to do
                                                 the same

Overbooked, yet, overlooked
And on the hook for debts
                       outstanding
But you commanded my attention
            So stay unstained
I've been attaining second chances
     for unforeseen circumstances
So I'll drum if you keep dancing
             Just stay unstained

Intentions--
Can undergo declension
Yours and Mine are genitive
                  on dative Friday
nights. Some folks can lose
              their vision
              visionarily
So I'd say, cautionarily, "forget to do
                                            the same."

Aptitude for rectitude:
That may be shrewd, and yet--
                    while prudent
Rings no bells 'til midnight chimes out one
                more mortal year
Afeared, I fear, ad mortum. But we
     just keep pounding on pulsing heads
So let's drum on; keep on dancing--
                       Remain unstained.

Empty Bottles & Neuroses

Spill some wine on the season--
He's walking home at 1 am
And full of well gin and reasons
     for both staying and leaving
 and dripping orange lamplight
He thinks he'll try and dry out
                                     (sure)
Try sinking in ideas and a couch
                      on his back lawn

Same old thoughts just circle
     overhead in lazy patterns
Synced with beats made by cars passing
   on the street at 2 am.

It's a passion play he's caught in
Passing days with failing stances
Whilst the nights keep passing faster
   into blue-black blurs like bruises.
Open lids to empty coffins
With those thoughts' befuddled movements
--And he's introduced again

And it gets a little lonely
     sitting on that couch with only
     empty bottles and neuroses
     for to break that pattern up
     with another worn out pattern--

For to keep him in cold company.

Soylent Green is Me!

Riverdancer eat your heart out
Or I'll eat your fucking heart out!
'Cuz I'm feeling not too smart how
     I've been switching really fast--

--Between the glasses I'm always wearing
Alternately shit- and rose-colored lenses
Now mending fences ain't so easy--
--When your stomach turns to jelly
And you keep thinking
     that this shit's hellish and it won't stop

So don't stop
Just dress me down--
--and then upbraid me
I won't ask you to unhand me
Feel free
     to just consume me--I'm Soylent Green

When you're through,
Just toss the bones--
--in a corner neatly
You can even remain seated
I hope
     You enjoy eating. I'm Soylent Green.

Paranoia's got me drinking
And that always keeps me thinking
How I'll ever keep on going
     If I can't escape my skin

For the remarks that I keep on speaking
To silent pauses that you keep revealing
I tried appealling
But no damn good--
--When your stomach turns to iron
From fighting lions
     'cuz this is hellish and it won't stop

So don't stop
Just boil me up--
--until you plate me
Don't expect your hand to spare me
I say
     Enjoy your meal, now, I'm Soylent Green.

When you're through
Just clear your plates--
--and fill a wine glass
Hope you feel content and it lasts
Feel free
     To just consume me--I'm Soylent Green.

The Shakespeare Amendment

The world ain't all stage--It's sad to say; but Billy Shakes
   He just could not be any wronger
   When he states what's right or wrong
   Or what could not be any stranger
   But, still, he wasn't fooled by hardened faces painted grey.

It's more like half of life's a stage
   with a few upon it dancing
   and they sweat and count their crimes
   and squeeze out gold from flesh of backs.

It's more like half the world's at audience
   billions crammed into one room
   and we sit in dumb amusement
   just well-fed enough to watch
      and growing number with each act.

Priests, and Liars, and Shane McGowan

The preacher scrubbed your sins away   absolved you under rafters
   under fire
   under auspices
Of books with dust in bindings
     layed down many lifetimes thick.
But a preacher needs a pulpit
   like a fish requires scales
Without the choir, no pool to swim.

Senators tell you sweetened lies
   that half us want to hear
     two per state
     means only saying
"Sorry," 'bout half the time
     to half the people, sometimes.
But a liar needs your two ears
and a moment of your time
No need for snake oil when you're well.

McGowan is a drinker, true
   draining oceans of pints dry
   under fire
   under praises, too
From quarters high and lowly
     his legend laid down thickly
But a preacher needs a pulpit
     and McGowan needs a page
Needs pen in hand and needs a stage

Otherwise, he's just a "Shane."

Springtime in North Dakota

Fundraising for the flood
     but there's bound to be another one
     year-to-year they always come
     and wash out the Midwest.

So just ride your bike for high ground
Pedal fast, forget the chests
     that sit there filled with pledged donations
     for the drowning, doomed Midwest.

Sympatico, no?

We're washing in
On waves we ride
     on the Crimson Tide
Washing up
Drying out
     it'll be alright--
Six pack Pacifico, it's all sympatico
and copasetic
          but it's so pathetic
you're living hermetic
     You can't even smell the trees.

It's an age--or it's becoming--
     one of reckless living
     and sin forgiving
Finding time to be alone

     I'm not alone
        I know
    Just one out of millions
Cover streets and subjects and bare midriffs
     pull sardonic smiles tight

Disagreements turn to fights
     but not on my watch
           not on my watch
           not on my
WATCH WHAT I CAN DO!

The Stupendous Calamari,
   that is what they call me
     'cause just
          watch what I can't do!--

Got eight long arms
And no axe to grind
Six-pack Pacifico, that still leaves two, you know
     One to pick up
     One to dial
     Tell you you were right
     Five to put away the empties
     One to save one for tomorrow,
     For the Crimson Tide
     But you never liked
     Never liked that movie much.

And anyway

     Time to take some time to
                       take some time
I got some time for drying out.

Seattle Center Fielder, #24

Some nights
     --it's true--
I get so down
I can hardly shake
     the notion that
     I'm not
   sitting still, but moving to
a state of stillness--
legs are sore
     from standing here in silence.

And I can almost smell the summer...
     in my back yard...
When I still liked the summer...
And we listened to baseball on the radio.

And Griffey Jr. hit 56 homeruns
          in 1997
It was about 6 years before I was this way.

Just put the left foot in front of the right one
Two sides to a street
Pick the bright one every time.

Some nights
     --it's true--
My chest implodes
I can hardly swim
     and that's a shame
   Because
  My home state is fucking shaped
like a swimming pool.
muscles ache
     treading water
     no floaties!

And I still smell chlorine and mowed grass...
     and sun-baked cars...
Recollect through cloudy glass...
Open the window for the soupy summer breeze.

And when I found out that they'd traded him away
          to Cincinnati
It sorta felt like the world came to an end.

Just put the left foot in front of the right one.
Just put the left foot in front of the right one.

Breakfast Got Cold

It's 9 am your throbbing eyes
     pull you towards awake
The town hums hot outside
     to a tune of 13 minutes,
     buzzing nerves; roll out of bed
     and try to calm the fucking shakes
and 6 times
     in the last hour,
tried to swallow
     those distinct, familiar notes

          swollen throat won't go away

You're drying out. You're mopping up
     the yolks of eggs with half-burnt toast
And hearing snips of songs on radios
     down the alley from your home.
But the paint's all dry on this one--
     and this breakfast's monochrome
One more time
     choke back the losses
   on a streak that's growing long
         and ever thicker

It's 2 pm and coffee's tasty
     it's making your eyes ache
The town shares your migraine
And streets laugh at your footsteps.
     with the strangest sympathy
Try to still the fucking shakes
     as you cross the Lewis bridge
Just to shiver with the spirits
     while they howl about your head.

          But, outside, the town hums hot.

Stormy Seas & Station Breaks

I'll take a swim
     in never winning
I'll be drowned and fade to black
           Resurface
Cracks
           keep growing wider,
glimpse those gulfs through hair still damp

Whilst submerged
          and pulled by currents
to the place I always stay,
          you said you had a million good ones
But the days, I fear, are numbered
     quite a little less than that.

I'm hearing lies--
     the ones I'm telling--
Hissing snow shocked 'cross your screen
          The static
Cracks;
          it's all you're seeing
and there's nothing on TV.

Index

I'm surviving--still breathing
Out here I'm passing seasons
And I'm waiting--alarmed, though--
     for one or more good reasons.
Excuses
     Come easy
To me
     When the sun gets in my eyes,
And nerves start to shake
Make a getaway...

And just right on time
Back out and seeking space
          we're penalized.
Fall asleep
Punishment
     gets meted out
You'll close the book on Springtime.
The Autumn's set to publish.

Alcohol Umbrellas

Under alcohol umbrellas
We'll seek shelter from the snow
This street is icing over
Sliding sleet beneath our toes.

This place keeps getting colder,
They predicted our bad luck
But the globe is growing warmer
Choke me down, I'll get choked up.

It's like Wharton is your neighbor
And McCarthy shares her bed--
     We've got plenty Pretty Horses
     But no Room, here, for Old Men

Tickers spit out headlines
Half of us can't even read.
But the other half's no better,
     We're cannibals eating dreams.

So you'll keep your smoke and mirrors.
And, reflecting, stifle coughs.
Operate under assumptions:
Overrated's good enough.

But I'm taking bets, suggestions,
And donations, West to East.
So, from minor indiscretions,
     I might try to beg release.

Rabbits' Feet & Snakes' Eyes

Roll the dice
     I let it ride on rented hopes
So I end up staring snake eyes
     once again, like every time--
Tried charming cobras;
          bit instead.

Rabbits, they can't run quick
     When their feet have been removed.
Can't buy much with lucky pennies
     when your hope stones sink the boat
          Kept on swimming.
          Started sinking.
          Bolting for that little hole.

But serpents' bodies, long and thin,
     having advantageous shape
     and possessed of curse-born quickness
Are not wont to go away...

Past all guards and wards they slither
So, shivering, watch them pass
Right past all your best defenses
Good luck charms gave in to chance.

Seek and Settle

"What now?"
"Who knows?"
It's a call-back chorus
In the Church of Hard Luck.
Groaning Sunday morning
Follows night time service
And I guess these habits'll
Just keep getting stronger;
We'll call it "Communion."

Not getting any younger
Hungry eyes break fasts on X's
Spitting up our best intentions
Choke down regrets

Beneath suburban skylines
     putting on their blacks
We're just a couple kids
     rambling over cracks
          in these sidewalks--
talk to city streets.
But the boulevards never seem to speak
          so what now?

"Here goes"
"Once more"
Hit dirt off and running
A short distance stumbling
Toward familiar comforts
For to treat our symptoms
Poor man's analgesics
Start to get expensive,
Grip our empty pockets.

Not getting any smarter
Tired eyes X'd out and ashen
See us re-up on declension
Swallow results.

Beneath suburban skylines
     putting on their blacks
We're just a couple kids
     rambling over cracks
          in these sidewalks--
talk to city streets.
But the boulevards never seem to speak
          so what now?

I'm not
     pouring for no reason
You're not
     making peace this season
We're just
     taking loans for leases on time.

So with these urban skylines
     fading grey to black
We're just a couple kids
     retracing old tracks
     in cold sidewalks--
through the falling sleet
As the boulevards map out our retreat
          to locked doors.

Gasoline Alley

I would take a walk down Gasoline Alley
But--afraid that the fumes might go to my head--
I'll sit where I'm at here in Sycophant City
And dream of escaping whilst hatching my plans

I can't even walk with my legs thus; all shaking.
So I'll try to crawl, going hand-over-hand.
If these monochrome panels would ever release me,
I'd fill my speech bubbles with triumphant laughs.

But--drunken and sleepy--my trochaic footsteps
move quicker than my brain is likely to catch.
I parse out my thoughts and amble through diction.
And, then, with I struggle do start to syntax.

You hope it stays dry here in Sycophant City.
I hope it starts raining and droughts are all done.
Because that's the time down in Gasoline Alley
When colors from monochrome bleed and do run...