Some nights you still
cast your shadow like
dice, always coming up
snake eyes, and I dream
I am watching you stare
at the camp fire, the moon
parting your hair, high
in the mountains growing
silent and thirsty not saying
a word until a bird comes
from nowhere, and lighting  
on your wrist to drink from
your palm while you stroked
its throat; I could have sworn
your finger was on a trigger.

You elected a crazy person
For most of the offices.
You applauded a dictator.
And that is just what he is.
You cheered for a proven liar.
And failed to fact check him.
You voted for a misogynist
And against all of the women.

You elected a bankrupter
To handle all of our money.
You voted for an adulterer.
And seem to find that funny.
You voted for a cheat and liar
And ignored the facts against him.
You trusted a major swindler
Won’t vote him back to the pig pen.

You pretended he was a businessman
When his businesses mostly failed.
You ignored all his crimes in office
When he should have been jailed.
You made your stupid excuses
And stayed home instead of voting.
You listened to Fox and Breitbart;
Shared the crap they were quoting.

Separate beds and shades
Of reds. Intimacy is
A ****** handprint.

spring is a thick, white fog
silence of a room with nothing but a fan on
messed up blinds and paranoia
and lots
and lots
of porcelain

it takes one hour, three glasses of water,
and the breath of morning between first awakened yawn and turning the shower faucet on,
bare bodied, stepping on the plate to present myself to the cold, small, square
an exhibit
a self examination
i'd say that those three numbers will dictate what kind of day i will have, because obviously,
it could only be good or bad,
but i will hate myself whether or not the number is less or more than the one before
and my last good day was about 15 pounds ago

metronome pattern
every morning eight
oh-nine a.m.

just in time for
creamed coffee
and headlines

everything becomes
silent surrounding
the sonic field

    that leads
    that follows
    that's within

steps stepping
sequence ten
second rhythm

from back alley
toward front
boardwalk

by the kitchen
window drapes
drawn

    she glances
    she smiles
    she's gone.

the confidence
spawned from
high heels.

deep sleep
hot spots
grinding teeth
sweat
percolating
from
receding
hairline

trying to
calculate

meditating on

wondering if

all words from
all dictionaries
from all over

the world

were being used
in this very moment
simultaneously.

then i rolled over
to the cold side of
the pillow and
quietly said

"possibly."

like a man
i packed tobacco
into my pipe but
i don’t own a yellow hat

in Shadowlands
C.S. Lewis told me
marriage is for life and
i never forgot that

i struck fire
from a Sahara Club
matchbook
that Carissa gave me
back in ’98

she took her clothes off
dancing
for a living but i didn’t
meet her that way

we used to drink
newcastles, smoke
menthols and walk
Newport’s back bay

we laughed
a lot
and did drugs
at raves

i used to tell her
“when i make it
i will take care
of you everyday.”

i never made it
and tonight
i cleared
my pipe with

one hit

one match

one woman