I rollover on the bed
face the wall
stare at the lines and cracks.

I give the wall a talking to,
tell me lies. I'll tell you my lies.

and i'm telling the wall,
the future looks bright. i'm planning
my own crazy, this time,

i use a black magic marker,
draw a wide rectangular
picture window across the white wall, then

sand, seashore, and sea stacks in the ocean.
can you smell the salt air?
i'm asking my wall.

don't look at me cracks,
like that.

the wall sighs,
and the bones of this old building
reply with a moan.

i'm inventing my own madness, so

look,
the sand pipers
are darting here and there
across the sand
avoiding the gentle lapping of the waves.

and the long wing shearwaters
flying low, gliding,
just barely above the tips of waves.

i'm planning my own foolishness.

some loves last for so long
like a song without a name
and you never know
when love will walk into a heart

and I'm going to run
far away
from sidewalk ledges
rooms with cracks in the wall,
far away from here.

and, Oh, wall, hang not the albatross around my neck.

the sea gulls chanting,
the sun rising

shooting fields of fire
dancing across
the rise and fall of the sea.

she is standing by the shore.

the beautiful loser
floating lonely
like a storm cloud
ripped from the night sky.

she smiles the sorrow away
with a beauty so hidden and delicate,
distant eyes as grey as the sea at dawn.

she robs my head
sending my heart

floating
like a feather lifted
by a wayward wind.

she does her sky dance
on the sea shore
jumping
here and there
like sand fleas
across the beach
and wants for nothing more.

beautiful loser,

I see she is crazy.

and I want some of her madness.

her blessed madness.

there's something beautiful
about tall buildings
and a dark street,
the vacant restaurants and stores

the drive-throughs
on their way to work
don't see it
don't feel you
don't hear your voice of desperation
or the screech from the garbage trucks
brakes

there's something beautiful
on the corner
of Dewitt and Springwood Ave

where there were dances
at the bingo hall,
the fist fights outside

and angels
with their eyes
whispered,
come hither,
and giggled softly

and with voices
like rain
and with a touch of regret
sang all the sad songs

I hear

the ghosts of Springwood and Dewitt
wailing
in search of hope or a prayer

or perhaps it's just the police
or an ambulance

there's something beautiful
about you,
dark avenue
of crossroads
where the hanged men are dump

and shotgun in my hands
i'm going to run down
that avenue of dead dreams

the revolution is at hand

ice forms along the edges of ponds and hearts
thin ice...

holding you in my arms
after
puzzled you

johnny al said it was always *** with you
just *** and even if I was good at it
(and I was)
I was out of my league
johnny al said that


the cat that plays with the mouse is sad
when the mouse dies
and it doesn t know why it is sad

sometimes love is like that

the door to night swings open
and the night comes down hard
I still love you so

they drink flat beer
while standing in the rain
waiting for 30 to1 shots
to come in

they meet at airport terminals
waiting for different flights
promising to meet again
next summer

they leave the mad house sane
and carry bibles in the ghetto
and run for president
to change things
for the better
for a change

they are poor black children
in a toy store
on a white
very white
Christmas eve

they

the wind blows them away

staring out the window,
I remember you as you were

a bird always in flight

a fist full of tomorrows
held in the palm of your hand

staring out the window at the pouring rain
the warmth of your hand
pinions of a dove's wing
your hand in mine

I will not see the shadow
under your smile


gathering all the light in the room
like a flower in the sun

I remember you as you were

3 a.m.

the lonely crowd,
a quiet madhouse

i'm dressed in those rags
of too many yesterdays

but a wink from the waitress
and then a smile
and she s talking to the rain

and she bounces
across the gloom

and i fold like a flower
in a book

a game of chance
a desperate man

hold me close,
hold me tighter

take away my fear

gently hold my heart

I m going down
and i'm talking to the rain

the waitress is coming

and she sits beside me

blue sky mirrored
in her eyes
and she gives that
smile


we hold hands

2 wounded creatures
seeking shelter

from the eternal rain
of the all night-diner  
in winter

sunset settles behind the trees
and the mayflies rise from the creek
to touch the water to deposit eggs.

the mayfly lives a day, a single night

and in twilight's glow
they rise and fall
in a delicate ballet
to caress the water,

this romance with flowing water,
so brief, so beautiful.

Nietzsche knew of the waiting abyss,
those inside and those outside.

...Bobby's wife is *****, murdered.
he gets a gun, tortures
and slaughters the 3 men.

the entire movie theater cheers. some clap.
we've had our fill.
(transitory though it is)

we've realized in the husband,
the animal lurking in all,
not hidden, but not acknowledged,
our dark light rising from the mist
of primordial quicksand,
the mirror facing the mirror.
the monster fighting the monster.

and we are pleased.

i had the windows open

the heat

and of all the nights
not to be able to fall asleep

and the neighbors had their
bedroom window open, too

some songs you never forget

and he played the same song
over and over
like ocean waves cresting,
falling onto the sands of time
and never lost in memory

yeah, the fireman
had a wife and child

some songs stay with you

touch you some place
to deep to descern

some corner of your mind
holds it tightly, angrily,
hidden away in that dark corner
of never forget

i don't know who sang it
or the title
but i learned every line
that late august night

it ended with

"Lord it'sad to be alone
help me through this night"

and the fireman turned off the stereo

no muffled sound
no flicker of light
just the shot


"Lord it's sad to be alone
help me through this night..."

some songs play over and over

... on and on...

rules for wars
and other fictions

and the grave digger
gives me a nod
hands me a shovel of thunder

what to tell the children?

shadows can't exist
without light
and on my bended knees
lightning in the air
looking up

what to tell
the little boys and girls?

be amused,
smile,

darlings, it's not odd, not at all

we humans shed our skin like snakes
and one man's freedom fighter
is another man's terrorist

hell broke loose in Palestine
hell broke loose in the Ukraine

the angels' weeping choir
and cat eyes turn grey as the sea

the cat stares into the fire
cold as the sea

child, have you seen some
awfulness?

what could it be?

my cat howls into the fire

what to say to the children?

(welcome to the night)

pawns and kings, the rooks
the bittersweet comedy
of the heart and other losers


what to tell the children?

I've changed my ways a little; I cannot now
run with you in the evening along the shore, Exceptin a kind of dream; and you, if you dreamt a moment, too see me there.

so leave awhile the paw-marks along the front door
where I used to scratch and go out or in, and you'd soon open' and you'd soon open; leave on the kichen floor
the marks of my drinking -pan

I cannot lie by your fire as I used to do
on the warm stone, nor at the foot of your bed;
no all the night through I lie alone.
but your kind thought has laid me less than six feet
outside your window where the firelight so often plays, and where you sit to read--and I fear grieving for me--
every night your lamplight lies on my play.

you, man, and woman live so long, it's hard
to think of you ever dying
a little dog would get tired of living so long.
I hope that then you are lying

under the ground like me your lives will appear
as good and joyful as mine.
no, dear, thtat's to much hope: you are not cared for
as I  have been.
and never have known the passionate undivided
fidelities that I knew.

your minds are perhaps to active, to many sided...
but to me were true.

you were never masters, but friends. I was your friend.
I loved you well' and was well loved. deep love endures
to the end and far past the end. if this is my end,
I am not lonely. I am not afraid. I am still yours.

i pull the cord
a sputter and a spit

he
she
it
tells me,
let the grass grow under
your feet
pick no
weeds
let the leaves lie where
they fall
put a lounge chair
on the front lawn
sunbathe naked
(***** the neighbors)
throw the empty
beer cans
into the street
and when the cops come.
laugh.

pick a mountain
any mountain

climb up through
the ice and snow
and when
you get to the top
of the mountain

keep climbing

kenny composed songs
and sonnets to an angel
that lives down his street

a woman he has never spoken to

3:13 p.m.

skinny as a reed
4 foot eleven
kenny laveg
did some acid
that turned him invisable
being invisable
he had no need for clothes
kenny walked the 2 miles
to heightmuller's house

now,
heightmuller
had a growing disorder
6' 5 in the 8th grade
250 pounds

kenny was not impressed

so,
laveg
who is now invisable
strolls up cold stone steps
crashes through
the glass front door
where heightmuller
lives

kenny is chasing heightmuller
around and around
the kitchen
and heightmuller
jumps on top of
the refrigerator
screaming for his mom
and kenny rips
rips the door
off of
the refrigerator

and kenny laveg stares
at heightmuller
for a long
long moment
winks
and says,
"you don't **** with superman"...

...kenny stole
a 5 ton garbage truck
the day he got out of jail

you showed me how to think crazy
and be free

kenny laveg
sharp-edged and fearless
the patron saint
of us tortured souls and dreamers

miles davis blowing sad
and in the ruins of his room
among the empty beer cans

the room where the floor is tilted
like the fun house floor

he wrote his poems
on the back of over due bills

on paper plates flung out the window
like dying daffodils

on those orphaned buildings
on cookman ave


the click clack
and the sad echo
off his duct taped boots
drifting off empty stores

in the soulless town
he gave a heart

the man
axe in hand
chasing tommy down 5th avenue

too soon the night has found you

too soon you left this earth

she had 2 horses
but she was the...long shot
pretty and flawed
edgy like storm clouds
drifting over the sun

that brief moment

of a faltering ray of light
fading in the grass

you belong among mountains
you belong among  the columbines
blue violet
pale blue
that bloom in the high meadows
above tree line

you are a memory
and a walking dream
so run away and find another lover

and on the snow white bed sheet

I write the words

that you longed to hear

the mirror runs the length of the bar.

we down our drinks
and the bar empties out into the street.

across the street
the unemployment building is burning.

the tender, passionate flames
sets the night on fire.

blue eyes looks up,
she says to me,
"wanta go on a date?

i'll make all your dreams come true,
wouldn't you
love to love me?" she hooks her arm
through my arm and smiles,
"$20 and up depending on what you want."

"what's you're name?"

"Marie."


Gretta and Marie are kissing and turn
to me and give me that
Cheshire cat smiling


and for a moment
the ****** of the impossible
when the 5th floor collapses on the 4th floor
the flames shot up
like the 4th of July

and everyone cheers.


but then the fire engines come.

we file across the street
and into the bar,
unhappy faces,
angry faces stare.
the party was over.

and the mirror runs the length the length of the bar.

in the kitchen
on a shelf a digital clock
5 baby doll heads on one side
and 5 baby doll heads
on the other

the digital clock is blinking zeros

a can of Schaefer in his right hand
a cigar stub
in the other
he s plants dead flowers
In his garden
tills the soil searching
for his forgotten prayers

his grey eyes
narrow slits bright as steel
his crooked dreams clutch night

he knows no other way

he stands in the fire
he knows no other way

a lonely rider lost in a glass of yesterday's

the digital clock is blinking zeros

molly
the waitress
at Town diner

wants to be a model
or a nun,
tells me she's a poet

we're sitting on
a couch in her apartment.
molly takes a poem from
a foot high stack
on the end table,
hands me a poem,
"FIRST BRA," by Molly C.
it's about buying
her first bra at 12.
"i was big.
i needed a bra at 11,"
she smiles.

now
she doesn't wear bras.

she tells me
rod mckuen
is the most read
poet
in America.

"what about walt,
plath,
hughes?" i asked.

"no
no,"
she says,
"mckuen is the MOST
popular poet
in American history,
no,
really
the greatest American poet."

molly loves rod mckuen.

i love molly.

"if the public loves
rod mckuen,"
i tell her,
you've got a shot.
you could be the  female version
of rod mckuen."

molly smiles
takes me by the hand
and leads
me up the stairs
to the loft.

she takes the ribbon
from her hair.

i lay her down
on the bed

and bang the hell
out of
the next
most read
American poet

i asked her to dance.

"so,"  she smiles, "dance with me,

sometimes
I feel like
I'm almost gone

and i want you
to hold me,
she says,
hold me tighter

I want you to feel
my heart beating
and tell me
you'll never
let me go.

will you think of me?"
she asks, smiles,
always?"


rain is the night's
beating heart
icy heart,
wind and rain
and a memory
birds are winging west

tired and broken
the ribbon in her hair
footsteps echo
going down the hall

and i could tell by
her smile
she's not coming back

fumbling
shards of broken heart
fall through cupped fingers    

here comes the night.

i woke up in the blues,
sat on the only chair in the dark room.

put on my torn shirt, worn shoes,

I wished upon a tumbling star

and down the steps, out the
front door
I went.

the puddles electric shimmer neon.

a robin dances fragile and free.
(I tip my hat, ah, what the hell.
I wish the robbin well.)

old man Bennett sitting on a park bench
in the rain
feeding pigeons.

how are you? I ask.

he sighs, ah, things don't get any better
don't get any worse.

he gives me a smile. (ah,
what the hell, quiet mercy,
I gift him a smile.)

I woke up with blues,
wished upon a falling star.

fell into a full moon.

(feel the pull!)

it rolls me over
the ocean of misty streets,
tall alley walls,
the dark corners hiding my heart.
(so give a smile to tomorrow.
???will there be cold beer in hell.)

I ve lost my way,
creature of silent sorrow .
(so throw me a smile.)

I fell upon a fallen star,
how far from the grave?

a crow caws at my window.
the night is so long.

wishing on a tumbling star,
no matter how you look at it
you lose.

I woke up in the blues,
sat in the only chair in a dark room.

I was always turning around to see
who was behind  me
and there in lies the danger
and so the past holds me in its arms...

...the tip of your cigarette glows in the dark.
(the light without a flame)

you are sitting in a chair.
I m sitting in a chair.
we don't speak.

that is my everlasting memory of you.

the fire had taken flight.

you bought books and never read them.
you always used too much perfume.

I had no time for you, lonesome dove.
my heart of sand,
but thunder now follows my heart,
with the perfume of things lost.

...the meadow and the puddle
you wouldn't come out of

wild and simple joy

invisable to eyes, now...

I wander the meadow grass

the fields where the flowers glow
in early morning
sunlight

the fields you
only dream of
where your soul is always free...

and you come running
spectral through the mist,

I walk lonely fields

you know it needed something
but you don't realize it
until months later...

if it had
had a dog and a child

it would be perfect...

"I picked up Bella
our Maltese
and took little Johnny
by his tiny hand

as the ambulance drove off."

why do the most talented poets
**** themselves:
Anne Sexton,
Sylvia Plath,
Dylan Thomas

it's better
to be a sheltered poet
and follow the Robert Bly formulas
a few weeks on the New York Times
best sellers list
then the college circuit
and come up with something

controversial

like

Iron John

but not, too
controversial

there is far less peril
as a minor poet
stick with J. Lohr Los Osos Vino
and ***

make the poems personal,
ruthless honesty

a plus

occasionally

something from the heart
something like a watercolor
in the rain
beautiful for a few brief
and fleeting moments

always the wolf
no subject matter
forbidden

and if perchance
you are jailed by the pen
don't **** yourself
too soon

linger in the darkness
step inside the Bell Jar
and write

and as he was led down those hallow halls
he hummed the melody
of the song he had come to know, too well,
my friend,

and he was forgotten by the hammer of justice
reaching from the obsidian night, soul lost
in the song without words

the angry sky's mournful lament

the wild howl of the wolf
hidden in the hinterland of his heart

the leaves are frozen on the trees

and every wolf must howl
and every wolf must run
through the glass night,
when no heart will beat for him
where no soul can find him.

born in the artic snow
she chromed
her heart
in steel

flames could
not
touch that heart

always a half a step ahead
sure
a few stumbles
but never a fall

and moonlight is just
a heartache in disquise

till one day
leaning out a car window
a scar upon his cheek
and the luck of the draw

was the jack of hearts

and the queen of diamonds
had
never met
anyone
quite like

the jack

of hearts,

black-haired blue-eyed
her beauty inspired
stupid men
to commit foolish acts

and as he smiled
the queen of diamonds
thought she had

the jack of hearts,

blue sky shimmering
in her eyes

jack became
the brightness
of her day

and the jack of hearts
saw a flame
flickering in her eyes
that he had never seen
in any women's eyes
before ...
                
               act. 2

... a strange destiny
was unraveling
and one long poker hand
was over
and the snowflakes came
down like ashes
under the street light

and then
the jack of hearts
walked away

a pale spirit fleeing
a graveyard
into the wall of night

and the queen of diamonds
cried

the sea into sky

with eyes
like twilight
waiting

to eat away the day

some
float
up

slowly

the wind taking his hair
the wind blowing through him
skin and bone
the wind whistling through his teeth

some ride into the abyss

some are bounded
to cling to the earth,
rock and soil

some hang on to the edge

some ride the wild wind
into the Abyss

some see the river and fish

some rise up
when the lonely one asks for the them

does the abyss wait for you,
or did an angel come for you, brother

and if the earth is but a grain of sand
in the vastness of all the grains of sand
on all the beaches of an unfolding soul
drifting into the ripples of time,

I need to know, Lord?

the box

my brother on the dining room table.
ashes and memories.

she took my picture,
that's how it started
that's how i knew,
she took my picture
off the refrigerator door

when your picture is taken off
the refrigerator
like dust off a knick knack shelf

you do the dishes,
you have to wash your own socks.

the refrigerator is cursed
like a lost winning lottery ticket.
cursed with pictures of dead pets,
dead aunt's, cousins, grandma...

(my picture rip off the fridge like $#@#$#@...)


the fridge hums its song,
warm on the outside
and cold on the inside.

you *******, i shout,
and i punched the fridge,
packed my suitcase,

grabbed my fishing pole
and out the front door
I went.

half way down the sidewalk,
I turned

and there was little Jack
looking out the window at me.

(tears ran down my cheeks.)

MAN! I'm gonna miss that dog!!!

beautiful flower

carried away in the storm
laid down in a thicket of thorns.

who will morn
the dancer and sinking sky?
the raven with a broken wing?
who will cry for you? O, flower
folded in the forgotten book of sorrow.
now, a shadow and a name and a tombstone.

my flower, my rose without thorns.

I'm gonna get my shotgun
climb the water tower,
shoot the stars full of lost tomorrows.

I love,

the desperation
as if wandering lost on a mountain.

I love the solitude
and the loneliness of being
compelled to love.

i love the desperation.

the wolf hidden in my wild heart
howling at a streetlight

and the sorrow of distant echoes in my head
and the laughter coming from an empty bed.
the mountain ledge whistling in the mist.
the pierce of thorn from the rose
clutched tightly in my fist.


some never feel more alive
as love fades into the silence
of sweet lies and blue skies.

just never show the fear that's in your eyes.
never shed a tear for the rose refused.

a shadeless lamp
lit her face

" i'll teach you how to dream,"
she told me in her room

broken and beautiful
she was 32
red hair
she had freckles
on her *******
and lost eyes
desperate grey
eyes
like a coming storm
offered heartache held in the palm of her hand

her name i can't remember
it was a kind of whiskey
she loved whiskey

she said it again
"i'll teach you how to dream"

but i had surrendered
many times
many years ago
somewhere along
the road
to nowhere

and she passed out during the act
and the rabbit
was dancing in the ditch
and
so i finished

"don't you get it," i whispered
through her snoring

"we were faded
broken

a long
long

time ago"

walking out trailor
the saddest place on earth
is sante fe at sunrise

"after 6 beers," says crazy george,
"she's not gonna be looking any better."

                      *       **

Oh, woman!
wounded spirit
of moonlight and broken glass

Oh, fiery night
Oh, heat
raging, dazzling light

the wild place
till the red morning light

till the red morning light

hold me tenderly
hold me with those gentle eyes

hold me in your arms
far from shadows
where the nightingale sings

till the red, morning,  light.

I'm searching for intelligent life
not in outer space but here on earth.
I turn over a rock
and find congress, the president,
a couple used car salesman
and a worm.

the choice is obvious.

ferocious beauty,
abandoned heart,
your blue green eyes
seemed like a window
to a fire

and so you thrilled me
like an old rusty bridge,
sweet things, and mountains.

we are what we are.
desperate, Darling,
fated like all living creatures.

if we didn't fear death,
how could we love

the wild flowers in the meadow,
coffee in the morning,
the joy in the smile of our children,
the warmth of our bodies touching.

you are the flower of the meadow

and I am the one to lie beside you
into endless tomorrows.

when the edge of darkness beckons
and thunderstorms are calling to you
from distant mountains,

fall slow,

so I m falling slow

like rain turning to snowflakes,
like snowflakes turning into rain.

the rain running down my window pane.
an unshaded lamp and a cold bed.

I roll to face the wall

and how cruel the raindrops
to cast teardrop shadows onto the wall.


the poet's dream;
the moth seeking the light of a distant star.

how many dreams forgotten?

I'm searching for
the summer of dreams,
songs, and a voice, and words

floating through clouds like roses,

I'm searching for the distant star,
the mystery of tomorrow
and a pair of eyes to fall into,
the silent touch of raindrops
turning into words.

the sky is on fire
at sunset

(and you want to know
why i'm sitting
on the roof

the sky is on fire

and I only dream of you

and in Tibet
the monks write their prayers
on rice paper
and climb to a high mountain top
and fling their prayers
into the wind
where they will float
to heaven
and be answered

the clouds:
violet,
pale yellows,
and pink

and you want to know
what i'm doing
sitting up on the roof

so standing
I take the toilet paper
from my shirt pocket

and the wind knows
and skyward it goes)

the sky is on fire at sunset

and my quiet heart beats only for you

I felt like an old newspaper
blowing across a deserted street
predicted my life.
I had on the same faded blue jeans
and 10 dollars in my pocket
and faded eyes
and holes in my sneakers.
and sometimes
I still cast a shadow
standing in sunlight

"I don't write poetry any more,"
she said
and threw down the shot of wild turkey.

she was beautiful once.
now, her eyes trapped  
and frightened.

her lips moved
but it was the rain that spoke to me.

she glorified in self destruction
like an actress in a greek tragedy  
or a boxer past his prime

dark violets, gardenas, and red roses
she sits behind a tombstone
picking flowers
waiting.

he wanted his  masterpieces
to hang in churches
throughout the world,
the clarity,
the emotions,
the details.
ah, Raphael

the symphonic poems of Franz List
his strophes and antistropes
linger in the ears
for centuries

the depraved bukowski
collecting numerous rejection slips
hated the rules
created his own rules

and 64,000 years ago
in caves,
the vibrant colors,
the fearsome predators,
the herds racing,
the sense of motion
that still moves us,
and deep in that cave
the stenciled human hands
a woman's hands

and i'm every dog
that ****** on every mailbox and tree
to let the other dogs know I've been here

run naked
in the garden of life

she walks from the alley
over wet lottery tickets, chesterfield butts
and empty gypsy rose wine bottles.
but truth lies in forgetfulness and
even the stars bleed dust.

I smile to greet her.

I smile as she lifts my throat to heaven.
I smile even as the razor skates across my neck...

and she's following you too...sucker...

the BIG! dream

stone angels and crosses,
myrtle leaves and a wreath of roses.

i have built relationships
among the tombstones
and beneath dirt
silent voices shout

time is quicksand!

so, climb a mountain,
swim the sea,
jump into the fire,
walk the high wire,
stumble on

be free.

the softness of her hand in my hand.
her humming to a song
and a whisper comes from the grave of my mom,
don't let life slip away into sorrow,

and through the moonlit smiles of angels,
through the silence of stone,

there among the tombstones
where time no longer teases,

the silent flight of tomorrows.

I'm skipping stones across the lake
with my eyes closed
and now I can only see you
in a drunken dream.

I'm searching for the lost song
and the melody I knew
before your eyes had died.

the words I didn't say.
the strings of the lost cords
seated in sorrow, sometimes joy,
lost in tomorrow's rain,
found in a photo alblum.

the thinly stretched cords in 1/4 tones.
the rhythms from your heart beating.

the tender touch of vibrating strings.

( "........... ...  ..............., ..... .......  .
......... ..................... and ................ .......... .
............, ...................... ............. ."

6a.m. to 2:00
the diner is open
a little ***** in the morning
so sometimes she burns
the hash browns

eggs
always soggy

her black shirt and pants
the black shirt and pants
that at one time
showed off
her ***
so well
too tight now
like a snake about
to shed its skin

"sometimes I see him in the mall,"
she often talks to herself,
"I ask him if he d like to meet his son.

I don t know why he thought
that

I did nt want to marry him anyway,"

she s *******
flips the hamburger

watches it  

slowly
peeling off the ceiling

a black moon coming down

unchained spirit

simple beauty

a flower

(as it was meant to be)

"Kate left pieces of me
here and there
in her house
around town
in city streetlights
disappearing down empty
dark roads, " i'm trying
to explain it to Maria.
"understand?"

her comforting smile,
and then she says,
"and so we huddle together in huge cities
yet, still alone."

"one punch can change a fight
but i've been kicked in the teeth."

Maria nods her head,
"loves been a little bit ******* you."

"yeah. and I swore i wasn't going down
this time."

"you shouldn't bet
when all you do is lose," she tells me,
crosses her long legs."

"have i played the game too long?"

"you paid her with promises."

" Camus saw life as meaningless,
didn't need hope."

"and you do."

"she left me in the cold fire.
see me through this night.

can I sleep on your floor?"

pocket full of pennies
rolling across the kitchen floor,
down the steps, out the door,

pennies running into the street
(and i'm right behind them.)

"where do you think you are going? and
I'm feeling a bit embarrassed, so i whispered.
"you belong to me,

to keep or to throw away." and

there s a light tap on my shoulder,
and the policeman tells me,

"better find them soon
before they turn to rust,

I couldn't find mine
and I'm sure they turned into dust."

and the echoe from the hole
in my pocket shouts,
" his dreams are
trying to find the waterline."

i did find a few of them, a handful,
(I had swiped my hand as they tried to roll away)

I did grasp a few

but some of the other
pennies i threw into the air
where they may have fallen,
I know not where.

he s standing on the table

i'm looking up at him,
"this bar
the city
this city
isn t the place to lose your mind,"
I try to tell G..rge

Geo... only listens to sad songs

he's coming undone

he s been thrown
out of 3 bars
one bar twice

did 12 years in state,
said he loves her

"I only stabbed her with the steak knife in her thigh,
I wasn't trying to **** her,"

blames it on
the moon

"the gravitational pull...
we have water...
our bodies are 80 percent water,"

he says, " our brains...90
...the same thing
...happens to the tides."

his eyes rolling back and forth
adrift in that ocean

"...and why do barbers
always think
they need to talk to you..."

edged with sadness
his mind filled with ghosts
his x- wife runs around inside his head
like a mouse on a wheel

and the wind runs dancing through the trees