Face Tally

          Under
Cloudy skies in a serpentine Springtime
I'll cast dice in the alleys I know

I'll take time and I'll tally the faces
and store 'em in my pockets
          'til the Autumn unrolls

Wait, now, for the doc's diagnosis
Take my place by his cabinet of potions.
The room's hot, now, and so is my bowl of stew
I'm only out as long as it takes me to eat

Hedge my bets? No, let it ride...

In this vacant space each night...

Until I'm cured.

          Across town
Footprints of a girl I met once
Forget names, but remember a face

She counts steps--the ink on the pages runs--
She always goes for walks
          and reads books in the rain.

She knows clowns, she hangs out with assassins
Skin's real tough, but she's always laughing
Today's cold, now, but she's bundled up so tight--
Besides, she only ever fucking laughs at the snow.

And when the season laughs right back...

I'll hide my face, she'll change her tack...

Until it's right.

          And these sidewalks
          might be onto something...

Faces, Legs, & Names

This town is famous
     for pretty faces,
     broken legs,
     and misplaced names--

A sentence penned,
An Oxford comma
          dangling off the edge of pages,
setting off appositive phrases,
lighting fuses--accidental--
          phasing out of view and staging
     tactical retreats

The winds of February mark off
intersections
                           Dow & Broadway
Midnight laughs echo off stratos
     then fall back--
     snowstorms at midday.

Caught in the rain on Sunday evening
this place don't stay awake so late.
Except, perhaps, for pretty faces,
misplaced names, or broken legs--
But forget the Oxford comma
         retreating, drenched, off of the page.