Ten
Ten
Ten men down.

Dig them a bonny bed six feet beneath the ground.

They are tired.
And they're weary.
And they shouldn't be disturbed.

So dig them a bed six feet beneath the earth.

Thaw out frozen thoughts
shoulders hunched against the sleet
stride crunching on the downbeats
familiar haunts are blurring
Hurried northward daydreams don't
trickle south through Douglas Firs
But remember how our paths crossed?
Stargazers both--I balked first

4 blocks down, I'm held accountable
for crusade hypocrisies
I keep tucked in my back pockets
and rolled up in uprolled sleeves

The sun returns, or so I'm told
but it's been evening for awhile.
And, if they're wrong, where are we then?

Left knowing we're left under miles
                         of mounting snow?
Left knowing we've got to stop--
                   but not one clue how to cope
Wondering where hours, weeks and years went
counting calendars we've peeled off walls
Counting marks on records
               marks on faces
Counting calendars
Tally scars--stubborn reminders
     of how we got where we are.

Ground my skyward thoughts
in the grid of frozen streets
I'll sink deep in the hoarfrost
coats the ground, turns steps to beats
I'll keep time, now, walking westward
hands in pockets, eyes on feet.
I'll remember how your breath looked
off of Brooks Street walking east.

Rushing.
Crashing.
Ocean fills my ears.
I'm stranded out here bobbin' with these others
after way too many beers.
Our ship started sinking
after parted ways and too much thinking.
We're all way too salty now
and all too soaked to swim to safety.

I've got
a notion, friend, to lay some blame
drop a few names, retreat again...
You are
a battleship, your big guns blaze
afloat on rage, bristling ardor.
      I'll calm you down, so dry me out
      or sink me now. We've spent enough
      on life.

Coughing.
Laughing.
Protests fill our ears.
It's frigid out here. Walking off these shudders
past the closing bars and jeers.
Boarded. Started singing
all our anthem cries from here to Longstaff.
"Land, **!" we cry sarcastically.
We're still too soaked to swim to safety.

*We've got
some way to walk, cover some ground.
pass a few blocks, we're lost & found.
The night
had shrunken down, contracted fast.
dark purple sky is bristling hoarfrost.
     We've warmed us up, so pull me out
      or sink me now. We've spent enough
      on life.

Well you wanna go out dancing.
I don't wanna leave my pad.
I won't loosen up this necktie 'til my head falls in my lap.
               Then you'd be lapping up my words
               that are
                     curdled,
                     soured,
                     absurd,
purchased with inflated currency
and sold off for a herd
               of sappy sentiments
          for worn-out, bought-up malcontents.
Yeah, you're believing anything these days...

And I'm far too good a liar
               selling real estate
          on toxic, poisoned ground.
Filling in all of these forms
and putting dumpster fires out.
               Standardized.
               Attracting flies...

Follow darkened circles down...

To my parlor. Find me cutting up and dealing
               out my cards
and doubling down on all the reasons
I've been feeding you.
               Repeating 'til it's my turn
               to start eating plates of crow.

Now you won't take any chances.
I'm a golem made of ash.
I won't fire up the big band. You won't come sit on my lap.
               I've been dishing out these words
               that are
                    used up
                    barren,
                    burned
far too long. The chafing dishes cooled
and all our vittles turned.
               Buffet line sentiments
          for naïve, hungry malcontents
starving to believe in anything these days.

Well you wanna go out dancing...

I'm not gonna leave my pad...

I know this foreign method
     made my throbbing veins its home
'cuz the familiar's not familiar
     and I'm not fine
          lest I'm messed up on
wine.
     And 9/10 of all the times
I've tried to crack a smile
since I lost you have
turned out as half-assed lies.

I wander streets, worn out,
while I wonder where you are
and what you're thinking about while
     you drive down Henderson...
          I'll try to dry out
          from time to time
        but fall back into bouts
       internal I'm interred in
       eternally--and I'll never win them.
       I'll. Never. Win them.

Not without...

          Sorry...

I meander through months while
     you walk through my mind

--and I'm glad if you're happy?--

     but you were quite angry
    with me that night I took
     and torched our collection
     of 5 years' shared memories
          QUITE ANGRY
             with me.
    And the things you said were mean
          but you meant them.

And you were right
About how wrong I was
how bad I am,
and how I taste
like lemon lies
on the tongue.

     You were right.
     And I'm drunk.

And sad and sorry and selfish
and stupid and absorbed by a
salted skyline of cold, purple steel
          every night.

It *****.

You teach kids for a living,
about the age of 9.
Me? I try to dry out
now and then, time to time,
but it's hard.

And you're far.

And I'd still come if I could,
     but it's hard
     following this heart
     when it's buried
     at the confluence
     of the Red and Assiniboine
          Rivers.

Beneath The Forks...

And that heart? Like the ground above it,
     it's covered
with ******, commercial architecture
and the clothing of bureaucracy,
     but ****,
      we had fun there.

Didn't we...?

Hold on
Admissions...
The night and swelling sidewalks
Call to me.

Folding.
Submission.
Those blinking lights, a quickly
soothing need

Blue-white.
the walk signs,
I'm running past the end of
random chance

     Do winners ever quit when
               they're ahead?

Too many of these casino nights.
I never let them end, because I
     swear that Lucky Lil has eyes for me.

So I'll take my chances.
One more dance with these snakebite
     pints 'til I
can roll these X'd out lids
     over these swollen snake eyes.

Deuces.
I'm losing.
These sights and sounds made fuzzy,
buzzing slack.

Jackpot.
They have me.
I'm out of moves and fading
quick to black.

Odds are
I'm ending
the night wand'ring the sidewalks
with old dreams.

     Cuz losers never quit when
               they're ahead.

Too many of these casino nights
I never let them end because I
     swear that Lucky Lil has eyes for me.

But she's rolling shoulder,
rolling pupils and shooting
     weighted dice.
So roll my body out, over
     the curb, to midnight.

     Because I can never quit
               when I'm ahead.

Road trip out to the coast
it'd been a long while
and I hadn't seen you.
          So why not
plot a course out westward
and get away a couple days.

I was over being over it all
And you were sick of your ****** boyfriend.
So we packed and got in your new car
and spent the next few days in Portland.

Well, life's a ******' drag
when all you've got are
loan debts and frustration
          At least there's
bad jokes and good scenery
and long drives on I-90 West.

     I wanna drive that road with you again
     I wanna drive that road with you again
     I wanna drive that road with you again
          I wanna drive that road with you.

We spent a day beneath a Bridgetown sky,
walked through the city with Jen and Erin,
got drunk on Pabsts for a dollar-fifty each
at the Star Bar, 'cuz we were talkin'

about
how folks are mostly lame
but can be cool if
they get half a chance to.
          About our
stupid, funny habits--
it was the greatest day of my year.

We were over being over it all;
sorta tired of feeling kinda jaded.
Then the sun set over Oregon
and you and me and Jen and Erin.

We hopped on a city bus and you
were kinda drunk and acting pretty crazy.
As my stomach kicked from laughing hard,
I remember I just kept thinking
                                                 that

     I wanna ride this bus with you all night
     I wanna ride this bus with you all night
     I wanna ride this bus with you all night
          I wanna ride this bus with you.

Remember, one Summer,
street was closed for construction
We'd careen through the roads
near each other's homes.
Wheeling through dreams on our bikes
in the swelter
we'd reach for the sky 'neath the cottonwoods'
dome.

Some nights, I still walk through those
baseball glove hours--
those sweat-smelling days
                                       and
those Kool-Aid stain weeks.
And I can still feel that
pubescent laughter
which lived in my chest
                                       and
still pounds for release.

I've leased some apartments
and filed my taxes.
I've broken some promises
                                        and
           I've been destroyed
And I've been rebuilt, but never rebranded
                            Those
                Summer time sunsets
               tattooed on my sinews,
              they just wouldn't have it.

Take my hand,
we'll fuse our last
                    few folding dollars together,
and we'll walk our snowbound streets
               and try to fend off the cold.
Find a place that's too familiar,
shivering hands on the door.
               Halfway laughing.
                   Half a cough
     as we protest we're still not old.

Break the skin,
I'll break the silence.
               Sigh
and watch our breaths ascend
          the frigid night.
Tell me, "Show me something beautiful
                    or let me leave the light."

Now, fill me up. Just sing that tune.
Two songs of piling rust.
                    I love
          the way you croon.
I'm just a walking ghost.
But what does that make you?
           Red-faced or blue?
           Two-faced or true?
               Do you stay?
             Or cry, "Adieu!"?

Strike the band,
they'll play the last
                    few notes of that "Civil Twilight."
and we'll speak our foolproof plans
               and try to forget the cold.
'Til you say, "That's too familiar."
Make your way to the door.
               Half a laugh.
             caught in throat
    I hope they'll draw out that last note.

Break the skin,
you **** the silence,
                    laugh-
-ing with descending face
               and frozen eyes,
saying, "Show me something beautiful
                  and let me leave the light."

The world ain't all stage--It's sad to say; but Billy Shakes
   He just could not be any wronger
   When he states what's right or wrong
   Or what could not be any stranger
   But, still, he wasn't fooled by hardened faces painted grey.

It's more like half of life's a stage
   with a few upon it dancing
   and they sweat and count their crimes
   and squeeze out gold from flesh of backs.

It's more like half the world's at audience
   billions crammed into one room
   and we sit in dumb amusement
   just well-fed enough to watch
      and growing number with each act

Now pack your luck up in handbags
hurry hard through your back door
                      These nights
Are colder than they ever were
dousing fires on 13th floors
When flame-lit streets frost over,
you can see a little more,
and the dancing sidewalk shadows let you pass

Now cross your arms and your fingers
clear the cobwebs from your head
                      You're off
And running on your rabbit's feet
clutching clovers to your chest
10,000 lucky pennies
for a Greyhound ride out west
when you get there, count to 7 and exhale

If you're keeping watch,
then I'll trade you shifts now.
I've been awake for hours. Almost light out.
Sleep is the distant, departed pal who
                                   never comes around.
'Cuz I've got a skull
that's filled up with dead ends,
false starts and last tries and lost friends.
I'll be awake so I guess it's useless
                                    standing guard for me.

Who's standing guard for me?

Ran out of cards to play.
Folded at the table
          this apartment stays small.
The ceiling's falling in
                                              again;
all that I can say is that
           it's alright
   though these nights
       will close tight
'round my neck, it's what I'm expecting these days.


When you change your mind,
you know where to find me:
locked up inside or on dim streets,
out after drinks and sifting through memories
                                   I just can't let go.
The sounds of the night
are drowned out by your voice--
--circles my head like halos of streetlights
outside the liquor store on the corner
                                    where they know my name.

Just don't forget my name.

Game's up, my hand is laid.
Folded at the table
          this neighborhood stays small.
Sidewalks' destinations
                                              are the
same. All I can say is that:
           it's alright
    though these nights
        will close tight
'round my neck, it's all I know anyway.

The nuts
and the bolts
of your automatic habits
programmed scowls and slowing reflexes
               keep you
     matching wits with no one
               every night.
             And you keep
slipping
     back into your 6-month rut
     with your cold sneer,
      hands in pockets,
      your shrinking bank account
           and swelling gut...

The Mountain Lines meander,
you're just killing time and brain cells.
Ashy days are tasting bland.
Bus routes circle back on themselves
          like your footsteps every ******* night,
          this town will raise its hand,
          you'll retreat into familiar flight.

                                                      Cr­inge
                                       'cuz it's so easy.
                                                       Cringe
                     at what you have become.
     Come back on your loop repeating.
                                 Potential's mocked.
       You're numb and deaf and dumb.

And you've never surrendered.
But that's not the same as winning.
Pinning hopes on snapping out
of it and sleeping hearts on sleeves.
          Heavy footsteps every ******* night,
          a walking metronome
          passing cross-streets just to pass the time.

Your dull,
aching eyes
that you peer through every sunset--
programmed scowls squinting through preset acts--
               keep your
       dulling wits all silent
              every night.
           And you'll keep
walking through days like turnstile gates
and send each night on down the line.

Send each night on down the line.

Got 2 fingers for this night
2 bloodshot eyes on the town's small size.
I'll take this walk on shaky toes,
take 1 more bottle for the icy road.

3 years, 3 months and countless ghosts,
some angry friends, a long walk home.
     I stumble down Wyoming Street
   and ball 2 fists inside my coat.

                      Stunted
I tripped while running in place,
bit my tongue and cut my nose up--
    ****** my pretty, spiteful face.
                   And I'm just
                       punting
and slurring while I beg for pardons.
Forgive my weak and sour heart--
                  didn't mean it
when I said "Goodbye and **** this place."

I'm a werewolf on nights like these--
popping joints and twisting knees,
yellow eyes and dagger teeth;
full moon makes my lungs freeze.

When memories claim my mind,
can't see through greyscaled eyes.
Sorry to waste your time
          but I seem to have misplaced mine.

Hundred questions for myself.
Emptied 15, placed them on my shelf.
0 answers inside each 1.
Shapeshifter's sorry that I killed your fun.

3 years, 3 months. 1 long walk home.
I gambled with these dicey ghosts.
I spilled some drinks and said some things.
Grab my coat and hope you can forgive me.

                      Stunted
I zipped my leaking lips up.
Bit my tongue -- I'd made no progress
     Hung my petty, spiteful face.
                  And I'm just
                      punting,
but could you forget my infractions?
                 didn't mean it
when I said, "Goodbye and **** this place."

I'm a werewolf on nights like these--
Claws bared and licking teeth.
So, please just don't mind me
as I walk out on unsure feet.

Sorry to waste your time,
but I seem to have misplaced mine.

Check off
     all these belongings from a list
that I wrote in thick blue marker
on a cardboard strip I ripped
    
                    There's a book I lost at 26
                    with dog-eared pages fading gold
                    16 pens, 45 cents
                    a dented tin of birthday cards
                    unnumbered rolls of mints

Sit back
     on the carpet in the heat
take another sip and press on
to the bottom. To the green.

                    There's a look you had at 28
                    with bow shaped mouth and arching eyes
                    15 hours, many road trips
                    your crooked tooth would slant your grin
                    Never saw me fall right in.

                    And today I pace apartment floors
                    or sit amidst a box flap hall
                    halted breath, an iron hour
                    clad in sweat, still packed away
                    in taped up, cardboard yesterday

                    There's a photograph, from 2010
                    atop the slippers that you gave.
                    Raging smiles, orange lights at night.
                    The River Walk in wintertime.
                    And it's my favourite pic.

But the 21st was moving day
and all I've got are pickled dreams,
an empty house and waiting boxes,
"Tear my guts out," so they say.

                    No fight quite like a duct taped box.
                    No companion like your face.
                    No shrink quite like an empty bottle.
                    No wake-up call like moving day.

Raise our bottles to the purple night
We'll bend these floorboards
          weighed down with our voices.
Shout the doors wide open
fling the windows up
                              erupt into the
streets we know
          then fade and dissipate--
embers, sparks and cinders,
each and every one of us.
A fireworks display--
a winter's day in negative.

          Let's cross these longneck bottles,
flashing foaming glass Excaliburs,
and pour our frothing voices
'cross these seething summer streets;
                                boiling over, burning out.

The snows are coming soon enough
to spread out half a year between
our memories and this night.
So let'*******our glass Excaliburs
and join our ragged voices to the night
               while records spin.

Signals get mixed up
                    we're broadcasting *******
I'll shout 'til my mouth's dry
                    you'll spit like a dragon
                the summers all static, now--
              I'll wait for the season
                to switch over channels
               for less interference.
                        On mute.

Bracing our brains
                               for primetime quakes
**** off a day
                              trapped in escapes

The fate of the union,
                        the sake of my habits,
Estate of illusions
                     auctioned off from your pulpit
                   I'll shovel the static 'til
                   the street's within reaching.
                   Now follow new channels
                   with buzzing devotion
                           switched off.

Out across the distance,
they'll be knotting up loose ends
and taking names from strangers
like suggestions, fading into
                               sunrise friendships

Waiting room.
A dreary day.
Silence couched
                      in thumb-smeared detail

What they found
was fresh enough
to stop the gap
                       between smudged-out Fridays

To remove their ceilings.
To rip off old, dead scabs.

Listen, now, I'm not angry,
I only need some air.
I've bloodied hands against these walls
and I'm done doing all of my dying here
                        So pick me up at 9.
                        Let me leak into the night
                        and help me saw through my tethering lines.

Here in this apartment,
sit and simmer in the dark
and bevel out the edges
of a batch of nights 'til this one's
                                        dulled out, hand-safe.

Waiting room.
An Autumn night
swiftly rose
           beyond these four walls.

All I've got
are window panes
to lean my arms
             and glance out at rainfall.

As it falls asleep and
snow flakes drop like old scabs

Listen, pal, I'm just hungry;
d'ya wanna grab a beer?
I've made fast friends with these four walls
but I'm done doing all of my dying here
                          Let me out into the night,
                          where the weather can't decide--
--between cold rain
                                                            ­               and lazy, half-assed snow.

Woke up in a dream under asphalt trees
soaked in the sap of the sweltering city
wearing these old rat rags
               and sneering at the concrete
Greyscale mindset stitched into my sleeve

This town'll ******' **** ya
               and drop a coin on your grave
dig your way up to the daylight
and hang on to your *****

                    Waking up
                    Snapping out.
                   It's not so easy, is it?
                  Waking up and snapping out...

The barge is afloat on the sidewalk streams
Burns in the summer, ******* doused in Spring
the bums puke in corners
               children ***** in the alleys
Sinking hulks. "Abandon ship!" on the galleys

These waves'll ******* **** ya
and pull you down in the deep
this dream ain't worth waking for
        But we can't get to sleep.

The night will corrode
Our smiles will erode.
It's been a long time coming down the track I s'pose.
The weather's finally warming
but I'm cold, ya know.
          And I know--
     the season's gonna change.

So peel back
          the streetlit sky of a Sunday night.
Reveals black.
          One empty gut, one clouded mind.
Got a fistful of pocket lining says I'm right.
Wrong way. Left turn. I'll be alright
          without you.
     I know my way home.

One talk at a time,
I finally know.
Out of words. Out of time. A frown growing slow.
The temperatures are turning,
turn my back and go
          'cuz I know
     that you already have.

I've always known
I would walk out alone.
Had to come out swinging for the quick K.O.
I hate the ******* heat;
you're sick of the snow.
          And you know--
     My reasons. Your excuse.

So peel back
          the ******* smiles of a Winter night.
Reveals black.
          Your toothless mouth, this empty fight.
Got a fistful of pocket lining, walk all night.
Wrong way. Left turn. I guess I was right
          about you.
     I know my way home.

          Without you
     I know my way home.
          Without you.

You said I had a face like
                 cinder blocks at sunrise:
Ash grey staining
                 red in the ending night.
The late winter cold
leaked down into my bones.
You pulled my hood up,
kissed me once and walked home.

                                I was a weak
                                 kneed floater
                                 that night.

It was a month to forget buried heart dents and debts.
You let me ride on the back of one more losing bet.
                                 The deck's cut,
                                    it's raining
                                       outside

If I had
       one more card
tucked up my sleeve, I'd lay it down
                      you wouldn't play
                      'cuz your hand's weak
Game's no fun. Folding. Heading straight out the door
                   Cashed in your chips and that's fine.

                   I'll take off and try to stay dry.

Your living room was greyscale
                 blue and white at midnight.
Ash on my tongue,
                 had X's in my eyes.
I'll choke down the bile
building up in my throat--
this mouth full of crow.
I'll walk out, grab my coat.

                              from your couch
                             turn the **** and
                                       I'm gone.

It was a month to forget buried heart dents and debts.
You let me ride on the back of one more losing bet.
Kick up my heels, over pavement, walk home.
Half-rain and half-snow. Half a mile left to go.
                                    the jig's up
                               and our steps were
                                      all wrong.

Let's take this
      time to find
some ground for standing. Thawing out,
                      I'll leak away
                      with the meltwash.
One more week draining to the Columbia
                   and your front step'll be dry.

                   ...and your front step'll be dry...

These punchlines unraveled on an Autumn morning.
My breath and my tension devoured the edges
of yellowed and dog-eared, trusted old pages.
This map's projections embracing me now.
Holding so tight. Pinned me down to the ground
described on the pages regurgitated.
                    Pin me tight to this town.
A flightless bird--I'm a rooster
                     bolted to your roofing;
follow each wind, but I'm never moving.
My phone woke me up on a cold Winter morning.
My uncle had died and they cancelled my flight.
It was only just me that missed out on his funeral.
And it's only just me singing "Midsummer Classic"
alone in this quiet and darkened apartment
                    "...Blue & Gold /
                    our city casts its shadow..." (Sundowner)
No albatross I, but a bird without flight all the same.

The motions--
We're going through emotions (right?)
'Cuz there's not a better thing
           to do on Sunday
night. This place has lost
            religion
            ritualistically
And I think, realistically, it's time to do
                                                 the same

Overbooked, yet, overlooked
And on the hook for debts
                       outstanding
But you commanded my attention
            So stay unstained
I've been attaining second chances
     for unforeseen circumstances
So I'll drum if you keep dancing
             Just stay unstained

Intentions--
Can undergo declension
Yours and Mine are genitive
                  on dative Friday
nights. Some folks can lose
              their vision
              visionarily
So I'd say, cautionarily, "forget to do
                                            the same."

Aptitude for rectitude:
That may be shrewd, and yet--
                    while prudent
Rings no bells 'til midnight chimes out one
                more mortal year
Afeared, I fear, ad mortum. But we
     just keep pounding on pulsing heads
So let's drum on; keep on dancing--
                       Remain unstained.

Your feet got tangled
in your own **** name
                             Layed
nights out end-to-end,
now you're the oldest one here drinking
in this dingy, shaking basement
                   by at least "a couple years or so,"
so shrink from searching eyes.
Strike up that ****** band again--
                  your teeth have grown tall enough
                          to ditch this ride

                          Outside,
              some drunken crusty's
             trying hard to pick a fight
      and shadowed necking in the corners
           punctuates the "Got a light?"s
                  like drowsy eyes and
             yawning sighs parenthesize
the way you check your phone a thousand times

                                       "Hey, don't you work tomorrow?"
                                        Yes, I ******* work tomorrow and...

Though all these fresh-lit fuses
                                          sizzle--
--starli­ght studs in leather night--
the morning leaves you spark-singed
               paper, sulfur lungs
                 and sagging eyes

The stairway's ******* crowded
with a thousand younger yous,
feet creak the upstairs floorboards
cue the crooked smiles in familiar hues

               But pigs have pens
               and feet have boots.
               Old hats need heads
     and birds, they need their roosts

So let the lines fill in
on this fermenting face
and lay this craggy grin
          into its worn-in place
          beneath these creaking stairs
          and let this basement shake.

Celsius to Fahrenheit
they took each other's measure.
While you walked half the distance,
I got lost along the way.
I succumbed to ******* frostbite--
it was not a point of pleasure.
Meet me at minus 40
if you've got a thing to say.

Hang icicles from buildings.
Hang a frown on one long face.
Hung my hat on losing hands
                                            we'll
hang up halfway through this call
and I'll directly start to hate this place.
Heap reasons on these question marks.
Hot coffee, honey cruller.
Split the check, we'll split the difference--
               Celsius to Fahrenheit
       I fought through the conversion

Then I fought my way into a much worse place.

Huddle
And shiver
And scowl
                turn away now
from snow-sunburnt faces
in cracked and frostbitten window panes
A chance taken lightly
won't wash away so easy
when the years mislaid thicken
and lips no longer speak freely

So I'll age, here, in silence
and dance with ghosts of better days
cross yellowing pages
stitch Bighorn peaks to the snowy plains

Your brown eyes were wet.
My greyscale soul had shattered.
While you left and forgot me,
I divorced from all that matters

Teeth grind
                                        ears dull
                       days fade out

Shuffle
And stumble
Sit down
             hunch away, now.
A strange face in red light
dissembles truths out of frosting frames
A proverb so simple,
"Not all is gold which glistens,"
Could have lived in the shimmer,
but I never listened.

So I'll dream, here, out westward
sleep next to bones of better days
let my drunken memories
trace bus routes back up to Winnipeg

Your brown eyes were wet
as roadway stitches unraveled
My blue eyes filled with question marks,
then they hardened up into gravel

I'm echoing footfalls on stairs
                  in the night
You're our spectral laughter in summer
                  bathed in cups of wine

                       Fade out.

Teeth grind. Ears dull. Days fade out.

Push a day off to one side
drink in the citrus street light
           lock arms with the night

Forty minutes, fifteen thoughts,
a hundred steps to next time
          check off the prayers you've tried--

--on frozen fingers. Through
your wind-chapped lips let one more dangle
              off your westbound life.
You've been here too long;
             You got nothing to lose left,
              quiet, spit it out
                             into the sky
                             Turn right.

Lay my 20's down to sleep
slept my way through a decade
             now open pint glass eyes.

Pushing thirty, since I'm ten
I've been grasping at something--
           something undefined

     On frozen feet been walk-
-ing south-by-southwest, hands in pockets
                clawing empty space.
Haven't got one dime
               to toss into the water
               but Northwest winds
                                  frame my North-        
                                   east face.

It aches when I smile.
My State's a disaster.
Coal rollers, burnouts and days full of rapturous
laughter and "Red Face"
down in Lusk in the hot days
of Summer--it's boiling;
Winter winds burn up your face.
I first learned to hate
myself in a snowstorm
on Dow Street in Sheridan.
My best friends are the slow warmth
that spreads through the chest,
lifts a cold heart, grabs popcorn and pints
at the Blacktooth on hundreds of nights.
And 500,000 simple souls are a sight.
Still they're just half a million salty
drops in the ocean--
A quick squall of rain on the Bighorns.
They've opened the floodgates for *******,
morons, bigots and rednecks
and rich, ******* ranchers thinking
          everyone owes them.
And their dollars are deadpan
gallows jokes down in Cheyenne.
But I've seen cheap smiles 4 miles wide
out by Sundance.
And I've got good friends that I still carry with me
like the potent, sweet, earthy afterburn of good whiskey,
or the smell of the lodgepoles in the Spring
up in Story.
And it's still my home
even though it's so empty.
It's still my home
though it sometimes seems ******.
That State's in my bones,
I don't think it'll leave me.
So please understand that some nights
when you find me,
you've stumbled across a small splinter
chipped off of Wyoming.

Foot prints in these streets
might seep right into the ground
as the signs in the front yards'
           colors fade out to brown

Your Friday night soul
likes skimming Summery books
while my Sunday night heart
is Falling into my guts

And you're alright. And I'll get there
if the map's coffee stains
          circle back to last year

Bridges will stretch
asphalt fingers cross spans
and wry, crooked grins
fill concrete faces with cracks.
The houselights go down, we're haunting the wings
                          with old breath.

Breathing inside. Locked up in
                  this intermission
Don't want to see the final act.

I'll drink down the light
your northern laughter provides
if you promise you won't cough up my
                  frowning blue eyes

Your aspects are warming
while I'm walking in snow,
the miles home piling,
             melting into my coat.

Are you alright? I suppose so.
The calendar spits up
                crossed off days and dead months

But I made my bed
and I dealt this hand
and I stacked the deck--
now the alarm is set.
When the sun comes up glaring, I'll glare back
                   from my bed.
Then, from there, I'll fall back
                     to old habits again
                   one more time.

Snowdrifts piling up
as brain melts down to zero sum
Not sure, now, what functions become
but, sure enough, what's piled high
          in streets will become flood

Slide past corners
wash away
These torrents still insistent shakes
The quaking stops, now reach the sea
and rock on shifting waves.

Peer through striations clouding clouds and
                                                     sunlight
Soak into liquid, reach the bottom
                  grasp the floor
Handfuls of silt melt out through wrinkling digits
Withered faces, pickled organs: zero sum

Trickle down through strata--
read the layers
peel them back
Then, at the core, can settle down.