Harry chased the shadows
around rooms without windows,
straw in his nose,
the bottle of Jack Daniels
on the moveable food tray.
the eye of the storm,
fierce, beautiful,
and like a hurricane
he came and went without meaning.
all he owned was time,
walk the days
like old newspapers
blowing down a deserted street.
Harry, wandered
the neon sky
on fire with wounded women
wrapped in night,
caught by the song
of the mermaids and sirens
who sweetly sang Odysseus
onto the rocks
so he chose to fly, soar
above the high wire trapeze
into cloudy silence,
grasping for tranquility
in a heartland were serenity
always slipped like water
through his cupped fingers.
the sky is a fickled lover
always just out of reach.
reckless grace,
he kissed the clouds.
we were 18, 20, 25?, broke into the closed movie theater. 5 of us. we climbed the stairs two flights through the rectangular opening in the ceiling, onto the platform of the projector room, drank beer, smoked ***. We we're leaving, and Harry walks off the platform, falls two flights down. I swear I saw his elbows flapping up and down like a bird. (this is a poem i was never satisfied with. i sent it to "private." i ve rewrote those parts, hope the rewrite is an improvement.