Sometimes I cry
when I think of him
unbuttoning those
orange shorts
that make your

There is a state of existence,
                                                 where a person is neither A nor B
he's inbetween--
he's the addition, the subtraction, the shove and retraction,
                                                 I've spent my life "+"ing and "-"ing

Harvey sees the sun for the first time
without history--
the worn leather, unshined shoes in closet,
the ex-girls off the telephone--
the beams blow kisses, taunt, and beckon.

They keep bringing in more jurors
to reinforce my conviction.

How many second opinions does it
take?

Channel 7 evening news played on the television.
Henry Wills the weatherman just dropped in to the anchors desk,
to chitty-chat and transition to his portion of the broadcast.

Clemente Jimenez, Suzanne's off-again-on-again lover,

I remember when the photos treated Sam kind,
and yet on the late nights (coffee, gin, cigarettes, the like) --
instead of relaying stories of interstate thighs,
instead of talking in fistfuls and mouthloads --
he spoke of internet pornography.

In the fluorescent mourning,
teary and bedded in the violence
of wandering violin -- seeking praise
and receiving a hospital bed,
I told my brother to paint the city,

The bank account overdrawn,
the west coast -- naked, easy --
passenger seat and head resting on cold glass,
seeing the pines turn to ash to evergreen to redwoods to sand.

General Patton and droppers
in between the cushions of couch,
in between the ceiling fan and carpeted wasteland,
in between nirvana and judgement day,
heavy, heavy,

Anna and I leave Jesus on the cross, on the jumbotron.
The blood pooled. The blood cooled. The bloodbath cleansed the flock.
I watch Anna from the passenger seat.
She's silent and salvation.
Rain falls in diamonds on the windshield,

You took a picture of your left eye,
you wrote a poem about a "blank canvas",
you said I didn't have a keen enough mind.

I decided to get a studio apartment.

Anna's got unsavory passion for heavy brows and bent lips.
She used to tell me, "Baby, you're so strong."
From the top of the spiral stairs, she'd sing songs.
I never felt comfortable, but I'd hum along.
The beer got cheap.

I told you, I don't want that kind of girl.
The way she bent the strobe- and the moonlight,
the way she kept telling me to shut up,
the way her heels acted like asterisks --
Marie, she ain't my kind of girl.

the sunflower church,
the green arch above the driveway,
the laugh lines around mother's eyes,
the crawling vines,
the milk thistle,

Lipstick cigarettes and the empty soul of modern rock n' roll
laid in ruin amongst my collection of black soul addictions and sultry benedictions.
MIDI saxophones and an ex-girlfriend on the telephone
directing me to find my home, to rebuild the comb, to banish the bartender and the Reverend Bender.

The wheat yellowed, the wind chipped and chipped
until the wheat lay cheapened in broken mass;
I steered my tanned corpse through the scattered wheat.
I came to the well.
Instead of dropping a coin,

Your arms cannot hoist me from the well,
your hope echoes, cheapening the sentiment,
the moon may be full,
but it's dark down here alone.

Letter, letter born to return to sender--
extra-marital, maritime, marine, mercy, mercy mine--
two drinks in; four from home,
letter, letter born to return to sender--
.38 special, sexless, spiteful, spitting, spitting rites--

Marie's in-laws start bashing the bell,
a Quasimodo supper for the reckless, the insane.
It's two hits of Lily's blue, four pocket shots of rum,
it's the backdoor, it's the snowstorm, it's the 100th of December, it's the cell phone;
it's nostalgic.

Over the rims of her thin, steel glasses comes the power.
The confident no, she loves to deliver over and over.
I've an itch.
I've got an anger.
I've a second story window.

Torrential, lightning and a river on Decatur,
straightened tie, loaded gun, staggered
down to house 423, a big wet bottle in my hand,
a choir of angels in my head, I confessed to you
that I never much cared for Frost, possibly both

I met a woman at the laundromat,
six-foot tall in her flats.
She bore the scent of a bachelor's degree,
class C cigarettes and warm whiskey--