As the river formed
By the rain
Creates casualties
Through the creaks
Of the streets

And the birds
Swoop down
From the clouds
To have a drink
From the new
Source of life
That has sprouted,
Purified by
the indigestion
Of the planet,

I find myself
Thinking past
the thoughts
And contemplating
Upon the never ending
Spiral that sits
On my kitchen table,
Rotting with time,
Not being able to move
As if it glued itself
Unto the wood,
Obsessed with
Making me roam
Around the room,
Turning it into
My own personal
Psych ward.

What a way to live
In this age.

The cloudy night sky
Didn’t let me see the stars today
It was just me and the moon
Enjoying our time together
Being more than just friends
Being less than, anything else.

The unobtainable moon,
Chatting with a mere poet
That doesn’t know
where he’s stands
Between himself and her,

What does he seek?
What does he want?

He doesn’t know,
It doesn’t know
where or why
Or how,
He just knows
That he doesn’t know

And that time will tell,

In different ways

Life will answer him,
What he’s been
screaming to the moon

All those years.

I think back
To those moments
Where you can grab
The rays of sunshine
That rarely come through
The clouds of a week
Of rain.

Or the blankets feel
Like the hugs of
A past lover,
Compassionate,
Like the ever haunting
Weight of the person
You truly loved.

And the night
Serves as a companion
As you gaze up
To the stars,
Wondering if they
Ever feel the need
To gaze back.

The skeleton of the trees
have gotten their color back,
The cats play among
The fallen leafs,
All while a hand grips
And holds tight unto
My chest.

I’m waiting for the night
To show it true colors,
So I can feel at peace,
And let go.

Don't go far off, not even for a day, because --
because -- I don't know how to say it: a day is long
and I will be waiting for you, as in an empty station
when the trains are parked off somewhere else, asleep.

Don't leave me, even for an hour, because
then the little drops of anguish will all run together,
the smoke that roams looking for a home will drift
into me, choking my lost heart.

Oh, may your silhouette never dissolve on the beach;
may your eyelids never flutter into the empty distance.
Don't leave me for a second, my dearest,

because in that moment you'll have gone so far
I'll wander mazily over all the earth, asking,
Will you come back? Will you leave me here, dying?

the world became a dark place
when my dreams came true
along with my nightmares.

In one of
my many
lifetimes, when
I was a child,
my dad had a
sprawling stretch
of land in
Missouri.
He had 200
head of cattle.
We used to run
the cows we
bought at auction
through this
shoot with wooden
beams that closed
on their necks.
My stepmom took
this gun-like object
and put an orange
tag in their ear.

My brother and I used
to play with this black and
white steer.
We called him old #56
because of the number on
his tag.
We chased him, and then he
chased us.
I felt bad for
him, the tag in
his ear.
I talked to my
dad about it.
He said if the steer
ever got lost,
we could find him.
I felt good about that.
I didn't want to lose him.

One night
the following summer,
we were sitting down for
dinner.
I hadn't seen
old #56 for a while.
I asked Dad where
he was.
He didn't say anything.
We were having
t-bone steaks.

As I write this,
my black and white
kitten, Bukowski,
bites at the pen and
tries to wrestle my
wrist as it moves across
the paper.
I'm glad that he
isn't a steer.