Wristwatch Ticks & Compass Clicks

Push a day off to one side
drink in the citrus street light
           lock arms with the night

Forty minutes, fifteen thoughts,
a hundred steps to next time
          check off the prayers you've tried--

--on frozen fingers. Through
your wind-chapped lips let one more dangle
              off your westbound life.
You've been here too long;
             You got nothing to lose left,
              quiet, spit it out
                             into the sky
                             Turn right.

Lay my 20's down to sleep
slept my way through a decade
             now open pint glass eyes.

Pushing thirty, since I'm ten
I've been grasping at something--
           something undefined

     On frozen feet been walk-
-ing south-by-southwest, hands in pockets
                clawing empty space.
Haven't got one dime
               to toss into the water
               but Northwest winds
                                  frame my North-       
                                   east face.

Doppler

Now, there's no reason these nights can't
   dissemble our daytime woes.
With bottles uncorked, we'll paint
   friendly faces on daylight foes

              The ground's not shaking.
              Your breath's just ragged.
              Faces shine and cities glow...

but, come sunrise, we're flying blind,
   while keeping our heads low.

Still I remember the time that
   we chucked that radio
from that rooftop sinking to
   street level, speakers played Manilow

              Transistors scattered
              Our footsteps clattered
              Down the fire escape we'd go

laughing hard, police up in arms
   alleyways lead us home.

                    We wanted
                     to up and fucking leave

                    But we're tethered
                    to this place by our heartstrings

                    So we're always
                    celebrating our defeats

                    We wanted
                     to up and fucking leave

I'm off and running in circles
   around my own lasting fears
You're off the wagon and just
   rolling dice hung on rearview mirrors

            We're contemplating
             on relocating
             back to those familiar years

but sunrise comes, we're twiddling thumbs
   and hoping stormclouds clear.

Valued Subscribers

Signals get mixed up
                    we're broadcasting bullshit
I'll shout 'til my mouth's dry
                    you'll spit like a dragon
                the summers all static, now--
              I'll wait for the season
                to switch over channels
               for less interference.
                        On mute.

Bracing our brains
                               for primetime quakes
Kill off a day
                              trapped in escapes

The fate of the union,
                        the sake of my habits,
Estate of illusions
                     auctioned off from your pulpit
                   I'll shovel the static 'til
                   the street's within reaching.
                   Now follow new channels
                   with buzzing devotion
                           switched off.

Nice One, Shyamalan

It's damn obscene, these best-laid plans
     of mice, of boys, of knuckleballers--
     world-weary one-trick cowards
     plotting courses into safety,
     taking wrong turns on the way

Now I...? I was never good with signs
     green and white--bad with directions.

I'm the walking ghost of a better me
And the guy I used to be and me,
                                      we don't speak.
                      Estranged.
             Roll through each day
             horizon's far from home.

Night blacks out gunmetal grey,
grey-brown slush fills city streets
and asphalt colored X's fill
our blue and coffee eyes
Fade out                          Fall back.
               blizards come
          Ride out the margins
static clouds fill white-out skies
Skies we grasp for
                           skies we shy from.

lofty climb, now plummet earthward
                       So
         these muddy footprints
         trace out the path I took.

            "What a twist!"
                 Yeah.
                  Shit.

A Sleeper's Cell

It was colder weather, when I left
Still winter in the bottom drawer
Photographs and birthday cards--
  humming hard, December streetlights
  still laughing at chilly footsteps
             one-two
             one-two
          No three-four

Now wake up August heat undressed
Yeah, wake up next to skeletons
   who "think that we should just be friends."
And--anyway--the bedroom's small
   barely bigger than a closet

Fall asleep in sheets of sweat
claw for the ceiling
          dreaming heavy
Awake. Wet pillow.
     Tousled hair at 4 a.m.
And, for my part, the ceiling clawmarks
soak my dreams up, snow in sheet rock
      spells your name
(I should prob'ly wash my sheets)

Though I'm often soused on beer,
When Autumn comes, I clearly hear, through crisping air,
   their wilting voices hailing
          while I try to soothe the
          drowsy year

But it's still cold and I'm still here
though "here" has moved
and every year is heating
so, I repeat, repeat, repeat

"What starts September
   dies November
February fucking hurts
  the same way as July."

The bottom drawer's still cased in winter
Skeletons still claw the doors
I sweat. I shiver.
FUCK I miss you...
Hope you're living. Me? I'm aging
Faster than I was before.

Funny What Years & Drinks Can Do To a Body

Triangulate on northern skies
pinned positions. Drawing lines
until the 106 meets up with the 45
             On a hot night,
   I might keep this smile alive
long enough to trace the alleys,
salt the streets with summer sighs

It was night time
And the sky took a bite--
drank our blood, we drained our pints
           and we set the world to rights
Switched to whiskey--
         same color as your eyes.
   You said mine looked sad, but you told me they were nice

Now I want you to know I once had something to say
on the tip of my tongue
             but it's late and I have aged.
                So get walking...
And I guess I'll do the same.
Meet up in the middle, in the Fall, some other day.

Subduction Values

Buzzing brains. Familiar clots,
I'll slur my way through second thoughts
blot out doubts with distilled friendships
          roll tonight into tomorrow's
           bottled sleep

Counting sheep until the ground leaps up
           to kiss these puckered features,
I'll appease habit with sacrificial dreams.

Face lowered
                                      head under-
neath; the miles fold into a hood.
Long-distance.
                                     Damn tired.
      of bleeding small amounts for greater good.

Quaking hands. Familiar shakes,
Five years remembered--fish for dates
Blurring hands held, smudging smiles
               cloud last night under today's
               soaked, waking sleep

Counting months until a year is up
      then fade out of the foreground
and appeal for a new picture to see

Hands folded
                                         in pockets
I'm southbound. Quench my thirst. Walk back home
Long distance
                                          still learning
what it's like to face a year out here alone.