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.