I drank to forget,
drank deep, long and hard for years,
forgetting nothing.

Heading for your heart
GPS beeping all ways there
sent reeling that lost is found
somewhere in desert towns
turned around again, twice
thought I had it right, nice
bearing on your destination
only to find that administration
of this on-board device was set
to the point of origin, yet not met

-cec

i carry your heart with me (i carry it in
mine)* and it wanders over
the slopes and valleys
of my own
wildernesses
I think of you
in plains and grasslands
sleekly wet in mountain curve
as you coolly crack the
earthly fissures
of my heart  quakes
inside
morning light
you transverse
your poetic speak
deep inside my night
your are always with me
in seeping pinpoints
of brightness
of gentle storms
you rock my dark to sleep
you are present
not obsessively
yet strongly
the way people describe
alcohol in veins
you regularly cut them
open, my heartstrings
you strum upon
their vibrations
like waves of calm
intoxication
lulling me
into gentle earthquake
pleasure and centered
breaths
leaving pieces rocking
throughout
my bloodflow back
up interspersed
between beats
i carry you
(that heart of yours)
in my heart
and I treasure
this residence
you have taken up
in my desert
blooms
faraway touch of lips
makes
pulse quiet
in soft booms
your voice soothing
storms
and you i like
sweetly in
my pulse
as seeds just
grow
i carry your heart
inside mine all day
your voice soothing
storms
my raging river
in your flow

Begin with the end.
It ended with a quiet conversation,
after you had thrown me out
and I spent a weekend
on call at work,
or sleeping in the warehouse.
You said okay, come home...
I said no,
I was tired.
Tired of your need to control me,
tired of having to hide my art
because I married a writer
who came to her senses
and got a real job.
I should have seen it sooner;
even though when times were good,
they were wonderful.
Never had a better shotgun
on the road trips.
We had years of heartache and bliss,
wishing for the early days
when we sat for hours
discussing what kept us alive
in quiet conversations,
the end planted
in the beginning.

Battle royal for a bottle of red.
Up the ante, we're going for Chianti!

Grant me kindness, pour a splash on my fettered tongue.
Up the ante, we're going for a thousand cases of Chianti!

Hoist the mains'l, sea dogs, raise the anchor, or you be hung!
Up the ante, the Cap'n is in a wanton need of Chianti!

Another wine won't do?
Up the ante, we know where they harbour the Chianti-shhhh

Wind be fast, my thirst is deep, as the desert is dry!
Up the ante, we're not paying' for the Chianti we're takin"

The ship from stem to stern, you get to clean, when we return, alive!
Up the ante, it is worth all the cases of Chianti, below decks we can hold!

Up the ante, we're putting' out to sea, we have a nose for good Chianti!
For when the Cap'n retires he will drink and
sing this Chianti Chanty at a seaside shanty, all day!

Her eyes matched her hair, and she watched me sit down there, at a small table.
There were two black tables small, with four chairs each, her eyes shut, she slept.
Her phone at her elbow, tension, burdened ****** features, i prayed.

I left her, I walked out, found a man bent over, a humble posture
At peace, bent head covered, his tobacco stained fingers laced, prayerfully.
He was a blue jean Jesus, beard bore the same stains as his rough hewn hands.

I passed by briskly and did not look him in the eye, walked down the street.
The blonde pole dancer next caught my eye, she wore short shorts that bared her thigh.
Her habit called, the street she knew, "No Fear, Little Sleep, and Need of Prayer"