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Aug 2015 · 1.1k
Movers: 1951
Messy, 'specially on Sundays.
Feet a'shamble from stumblin' drunkhappy.
"It's all good, baby," Blakey yells over the drums.

Bourbon flavored women hard to swallow
with their jagged softness. Smoking section (whites) stares
down dance floor (everyone else) with guilt induced jealousy.

Coltrane's back in Philly studyin.'
Pinstriped chuckle from the Rosenbergs;
kinetic energy giving birth to the cool.

The trumpeter's high turns his tool into a weapon.
The sound briefly stealing him from his demons.
"I'll find a guy when I finish my set."

Black and white televisions: blacks in white suites
Smiling china white for an all white audience.
The movers, to this point, have only been black.

Little hero Harry thinks
  blacks and whites should die on the battlefield together.
Everyone's starting to get it.

"That guitar sweeter than my old lady."
Charlie and Miles holding each other's needles
while Thelonious and his hard candy go bad.

Leanin' on bricks in a back alley.
The circle passes the joint around like the good times.
"Just keep em rollin."

The skirts expand and deflate wildly to the rhythm.
Pure sweat melting into the floors like drops of water on roots.
A melody never heard before.
Aug 2015 · 1.1k
Awkward Oh
One night
two souls met
at the old bridge
to debate the differences
between men and women.

"i prefer
being a woman,"
said one. "They're born
as princesses and live not by
suggestion but as the heart determines."

"Sheesh," said
the second. "That's
all pretty and nice
but men have power.
Will always run faster, lift
more, protect the population."

"Impressive," the
first soul said.
"Still, ladies have compassion
even when they've lost will. When
we've had our fill we stop eating and place
the rest of our food in a **** box like a sane person."

The second
soul yawned. "We
eat for energy so
we'll always be able
to guard and protect, you.
Admit it, your attracted to tough guys."

"I've always been a lesbian."

(awkward .."oh..")

The first
soul retorted the
silence. "Because women need
protecting. You've placed us under
your big toe and refused to ever let go.
But I've been back just a day, and I've got some info."

"And what would that be?"

"Gender is irrelevant but women run the show."

(awkward .."oh..")
Aug 2015 · 1.1k
Heir Apparent
All I need is some air
air
air
I used to walk over there
right over there
but now the hallways depress me.

I stretch and yawn
the hospice just fare
fare
fare
always cold and still,
white. Bare.*

My mother's questions
lodge crystals in
my colon.
Now we'll know
an emerald city.


The Coat
(Unsurprsingly) says
"It's my first day"
My cocktail of
tiny hard whites
and oranges,
yellows, blues;


A declaration I am not new.

In fact,
I
may never be through.
More white Coats
await corners as
mini-bosses do.
    

*The controller breaking
in my palms.
I haven't lost but if I did where would I go?
The answer is, nobody knows
knows
knows.
Aug 2015 · 1.3k
The Baron
Your face reminds me of
Lucifer just before he fell
from heaven and changed
the course of humanity

        - if you believe such a thing.

Too smug to understand: the beauty
of eternity has you only
on its fringes.
Aug 2015 · 1.1k
Rare Form
I'd rather not write
than write poorly
the same way
I'd rather not laugh
if not wholeheartedly
the same way
I'd rather not care
when heartbroken.

Yet I write
when a decent sentence is a struggle
and I laugh  
when I'm so lonely I could vanish cold
and I care all too much
too often.

The balance came when I realized
that it would take one woman to
break my heart, two good friends
to water my eyes from laughter,
and one hundred poems before I chiseled something
worth looking at.
Aug 2015 · 327
Untitled
tired.
oh!
                  so tired.
*****
Aug 2015 · 3.2k
A sports poem about love
I want to be your franchise player;
The reason you come out under
The lights.
My name and number sewn;
A hall of famer that will
Inevitably grace the walls
To the corridors
Of your memory with
A bust of my face.

I want to be the One.
Not the backup on
The bench with a
Crooked cap on my
Head and my helmet
Between my feet.
I need playing time
With you.

I want to win.
Fiercely. I have
No intention of
Joining other
Clubs, and I
Wouldn't handle
Free agency well.

Ill put you on my
chest everyday
And go to war
for you. Point
To you from the
Field when we score.
Then come home to
You.

(Every time we're distant is the offseason. Every time we're
Together is a championship
Parade)
Aug 2015 · 4.8k
2Q15
There are moments when I forget myself
                    Almost completely.

When soul becomes shadow I midwife the space between
                      Keeping distance.

Haruki Murakami thinks that the line between knowing the truth and walking in a dream
                        Is so very thin,

A literal silver lining, leaving marks on the body
               Splitting open the skin.
Aug 2015 · 466
Behind Glass
Behind  glass
we're  much  more  equipped*
    to  not  be  stung  by  the
   memories  of  the  wind.
Aug 2015 · 1.1k
Forgotten
There's nothing quite like
saying hello to someone
who doesn't remember
who you are.

They tilt their head, maybe
squint their eyes,
but nothing materializes.
Your face means nothing.

Even when you saved
the world together when
you were both ten

or wrestled on old
Mrs. Snyder's yard
for an autographed
Ken Griffey Jr. card

or fell in and out
of love with the same girl
throughout the tenth and
eleventh grade.  

Now your face means nothing
and a world of memory is
shattered against the soft
edges of your heart.  

Maybe its troubling that
moments spent so earnestly
could be
forgotten

or the idea that you could be, too.  

The truly valuable people
come like drops
of water from
a sandy canteen

so forgive me while I
pick up the pieces of
myself that broke
off with you.
Aug 2015 · 590
Three Afternoons
I forgot
what I was saying  
when you asked
me where we go
from here
as the train felt
suddenly open
like the field
the last Buffalo
must have knelt
in and  
you tried to
reach me in the
backyard where
the guitar
collects cobwebs
then where you
learned to play
squash in your
summer dress
but by then my
train of thought had
passed the station,

leaving you pinning
that same piece of
cloth against your knees.
Aug 2015 · 1.7k
Home
The air is as ice itself; maybe not exactly.
      It's hard to tell the state of the wind
From here, where the windows come together
             sharply as diamonds do.

She sits in waiting with her daughter and
      grand daughter. They play guard to
Her wheelchair, waiting for the wind to settle.
          It never does around here.

The car arrives before I turn my head.
        She's lifted into the seat. Forever
Now she'll be sitting, but at least she's home,
        where soup tastes like the milk of the gods;

Then the trio is gone. The clouds keep their steely coats.  
            Back To The Future still running on a tired LG.
She doesn't have long, but none of us really do.
         At least she'll be home, home, home.
1

Monday Night Football on a Thursday.
Preseason. Johnny Manziel, running.
The nurse is a signal caller, too.
She flicks the wrist like Rodgers,
puts spin on it like Manning.
Once a rookie, now a seasoned vet.

2

Monday Night Football on a Thursday.
Network glitch? John Gruden, talking.
Anxiety lurks in the tall grass
still licking its paws. My head's out the game.
I've become an easy meal.

3

Monday Night Football on a Thursday.
If I had another John he'd go right here.
I miss my mother, and how she smiles
like my illness only increases my value,
puts gold in my veins instead of chemo.
Rex throws his clipboard, I lose my appetite.

4

Monday Night Football On A Thursday.
No more John's. Get over it.
Game's almost over. My head fresh from
the toilet, pieces of everything falling out
of me. Broken. Stumbling. At this moment,
football is enough.
Aug 2015 · 2.8k
Not To Mention
I have cancer, but that's not what I want to talk about.
Nor do I want to talk about the cold bouncing in
  from the sliding glass door of the lobby. (The lst
   floor lights give off deceptive warmth.)

I don't want to talk about hospitals, or illness for
that matter because, truthfully, its become a game
  of things I'd rather not discuss.
   If you have an imagination, you get it.

I don't want to talk about the thirty day hospital intervals,
or the way my heart turns seeing my mother watch her son
  soldier through. I can be brave and not feel like talking.
   Because why talk when I have you here, next to me, smiling.
10:48 PM In my "nook" of the lobby with notebook and no tea!

— The End —