Yard Signs

Foot prints in these streets
might seep right into the ground
as the signs in the front yards'
           colors fade out to brown

Your Friday night soul
likes skimming Summery books
while my Sunday night heart
is Falling into my guts

And you're alright. And I'll get there
if the map's coffee stains
          circle back to last year

Bridges will stretch
asphalt fingers cross spans
and wry, crooked grins
fill concrete faces with cracks.
The houselights go down, we're haunting the wings
                          with old breath.

Breathing inside. Locked up in
                  this intermission
Don't want to see the final act.

I'll drink down the light
your northern laughter provides
if you promise you won't cough up my
                  frowning blue eyes

Your aspects are warming
while I'm walking in snow,
the miles home piling,
             melting into my coat.

Are you alright? I suppose so.
The calendar spits up
                crossed off days and dead months

But I made my bed
and I dealt this hand
and I stacked the deck--
now the alarm is set.
When the sun comes up glaring, I'll glare back
                   from my bed.
Then, from there, I'll fall back
                     to old habits again
                   one more time.

Numbers & Covers

Dead-eyed through drenched days
spent seeping through blank space
to spill another swollen week out
                  on a crumpled page

I'm young, but not that young
grown up and dumbed down
so I'll drag one more punchline day out
                   'til a year's ground down

Face the wall...
Aimed at the door...
But we're still here and so
         I suggest that we share this bar...

Stumble out
regain my feet
and pluck my keys from the gutter. I've
been dancing with defeat and, now, I'm
driving on the borderline
between familiar haunts
and some old foes that I conjure--
Now I start to realize that, like you,
they've got my number.

They've got my number.

Rhombuses of light
             separate us--not by much

                     but these

square miles of concrete
              will divide us just enough

Deadpan Friday nights
space out workday lifelines
until another starving paycheck
               grounds another flight

Your time spent so costly
the bill's due, your words freeze
a season's regrets regressed. Empty
                bottles taken out.

Besieged by walls
Afraid of doors
the nights leak in, you turn
     the lights out, choking down one more

Waking up,
you find your breath
you find your feet and your reasons. You
have found your boots and keys and lost your
fear of the season's size.
Between the years and months
you've been a souse and a miser
when the skyline creaks and sighs, remember

you've got my number

And I've got your number

The world's got our number--
                 --it's okay to come over
We can laugh at the night
               at sunrise, we'll run for cover
'til the season is over
          now, just run for cover...