That certain look
in your eyes
was in my dream
last night

Pearls cascading down
in London
where of course
I’ve never been

Pearls before swine
women and children first
then the rest of it

But it doesn’t matter
does it?
Just a small dream,
if that

Dreams dried and brown
from the middle age sun

Funny how they go
Dreams, I mean

Not pearls

My trembling,
pimpled little
yawp

on its way over
the rooftops,

Was blown by a whim,
bounced off
a gable

and fell into
the backyard
of a preacher

It was spitted,
and brushed
and cooked to a turn

Then served up
with coleslaw
to a chortling
crowd of
the brethren

after a sermon,
of course,
and hymns
and grace

and a chorus
of heartfelt
amens

she wrings the morning
from her paint soaked dress, dreaming
dragonflies hover
becoming sunlight dancing
vast, her fields of flowers bloom

I got nothin.
It's sad, this aching to write and write,
But the words coming out sound so contrite.

Like that.

I stand up, stare down at my page.
I see the lines, those imaginary borders
between my stubborn head,
and my bleeding heart.

I pray that the division will have a remainder.

That forgotten piece, the inconsequential.

Because the remainder is the thing-
That space between there and here,
Where time sits in a chair,
staring at its own hands.

That no man's land where eraser crumbs
become mountains worth climbing.

Where the fairy tales of our own beginnings gather breath,
Spreading wings over the valleys of our truth.

Oh fickle poet!
Your slippery heart is in your hand
Bind your mouth,
Persevere.

An empty pen
when a verse
comes to mind
is like

you’re heading to church
with a burdened soul
And your car
won’t
start

Don't try to tell me
Another joke
Nor drown me in
Your sorrow

This bar room
swimming
in neon smoke

And a cowboy
Singing truly

Of the kind
Of love
Only cowboys
Can lose

in the heart
Of the cold cold
city

I just came in
For a quick little beer
A few short
hours ago

But don't
**** me yet
Nor open that door
To the 4 o'clock
Blaze outside

Don't fret about me
I'm sure I'll be fine

Just a gray
stumble down
from the
glamour and glitz

and acclaim
of the
Great White Way