friday nights no longer
have their after-glow
the buzzing silver light
guiding me to you
to the beers
to a place like home
warm, naked
entangled in your
bed

friday nights end
flat-lined, alone
the work shift over
at midnight
my muscles quake
my spirit rumbles for
something more
than this.
the streets
holler and i ignore and
sit in the cold
smoking a cigarette
with the smelly, crazy-eyed
bums
in the shelter
waiting for the bus
which will bring me
to the place i sleep

but i have no home

you are the autumn
in France i never
spent
the courage i
couldn't summon

stars shoot
when i stare at
my feet

you are the poem
that never came

I know what is there
I know the love
waiting in your chest
a fist
ready to unclench

my nails
tapping
on the mahogany coffee table
echo this

friday night alone
again

Feel like I'd like fishing
Sitting there
Alone
On some body of calm
Water
A little rowboat or
Canoe
Early in the summer morning
Listening to the birds
Rise and the golden light spread
In the sky
Leaking through the
Willow trees
Sitting there
All day
Waiting

Feel like I'd like fishing
Sitting there waiting
Been waiting
Everyday
Anyway
Been waiting
For something
To come
To happen
My whole life

Been waiting
For an answer
Might as well
Wait for a fish to bite.

the night clings
to my skin
as it was meant to
spring is over
petals of blossomed
trees
hang on cobwebs
the car stereos blast
from the streets
and indoors
a man sings
i shall be released
to empty seats
worn booths with
the leather torn
dusty red drapes on both sides
of his stage

only i
am here
my palms outstretched
like a cat gazing
outside a window
waiting

my palms outstretched
asking
when? how?
can anyone see
this as now as me
and
who will it be?

do not know
the color of my eyes
sunlit

shattered bottles
glistening
on moon drenched streets

even as a broken pair
we're prettier than
most things well