He was long-winded
and going on about
physics, about gravity
and the processes with
which it associates,
about how you can
blow lightly on a
precariously assembled
house of cards to see
it fall over but if you
remove one of the great
mortared stones from
the base of one of the
great mortared pyramids
the structure stands tall
and sturdy, a forever
remnant of one great
injustice and remarkable
innovation.

In the dusty garage that
day his glasses covered
in gray soot and greased
fingerprints on side of
face and shoes with caked
mud from the recent rain
that quickly turned to
cerulean sky as the clouds
were whisked by so quickly
it looked like they were
being pulled by some great
and holy wind, beckoned
to festoon someone's poorly
timed outdoor wedding and
force crepe paper flowers
to stick to stucco walls like
wheat paste.

You think you need to
talk to a person when
you have a problem,
but those automated
systems were created
in the images of people
who were created in
the images of other
people who were
created in the image
of God or some other
restless celestial being,
perhaps a dying star
or an asteroid hurtling
and on a trajectory to
startle a species primitive
and struggling to survive.

The vast mathematical
implications that determine
the universe are sometimes
a bit too much for dinner
conversation, so our chats
turn quickly to local sports
teams and the evening news.

And the last and the worst of the problems grew slowly
like primitive oceans that the valleys accrue,
and the keyboard and bristles spun webs in the corners
while the masterful details to darkness withdrew.

The seconds would echo if a pause were addressed
and dissolve all the clarity that I thought that I knew;

encumbered, unwilled,
like the treasures of sadness
in the soul that sheds softly while collecting dew.

And then there was quiet,
while the creatures were barking,
and disdain and the darkness receded in hue.

For a moment, awoken, while the thoughts were subdued
But exactly when spoken, uncertainty renewed

Last night is blurry in my sleep fogged mind,
through my smudgy black eyes.
But I can feel the ghost
of the awkward,
stumbling,
kisses we shared,
the faint tickle of your hot breath
that whispered down my neck.

Did it really happen?

I was working at the Postal Service
Part time, answering letters
When one for Santa caught my eyes
I could make this kids life better
I read the letter, held it close
I couldn't promise gifts and stuff
But, I read the **** thing fifteen times
And at that point, I'd had enough

Dear Santa Claus, the letter read
My name is Katy Green
I hope this Christmas is the best
That you have ever seen
I want to let you know I'm scared
You won't find us Christmas Eve
We are living in a trailer now
But, Santa...I still believe

We lost our house and all our stuff
When we got wiped out by a storm
We had to move to trailer town
And it's not easy keeping warm
There's Mum and Dad, and my sisters
All in this trailer built for two
So don't go where we were last year
No matter what you do

I put the letter in my shirt
Without a second thought
I'd be fired in a heart beat
If I ever did get caught
I went home after work that day
Pulled the letter, showed my spouse
My Christmas gift to them this year
I was gonna find that house

I started calling neighbors
Got my friends involved as well
And told them to get others
As many folks as they could tell
We were in the countries center
They were stuck out on the coast
We were going to bring Christmas
Just like the Holy Ghost

We put the letter in the paper
Gifts came in from shops and stores
I would come home after working
There'd be gifts outside my door
We started out with eight trucks
We figured that would do the trick
Eight trucks led by a madman
By, the way...my name is Nick

We had five days until Christmas
To get this load to where they were
We had toys and clothes and gift cards
We had no frankincense or myrrh
We had trucks just full of tires
In case we broke down on the way
There was nothing that would stop us
We'd be there on Christmas Day

Each city that we passed through
Our convoy grew in size
The police just let us roll on
They could not believe the size
Our line of trucks was bigger than
Any that I'd seen on the road
And each truck was fully packed up
Each one had a full load

The plan was nearly perfect
Two days and we would be there
We would fix up their old house
Where others wouldn't dare
We would not only bring them Christmas
We would give them back their house
And we would do it all in silence
Like that poem and that sleeping mouse

Our convoy found the township
And we did the best we could
We ripped the house asunder
And then rebuilt it with new wood
One letter set this movement
Of Christmas love and cheer
In mothion for one family
That as yet, weren't even here

We put lights up and got ready
Found a tree and made it right
When the gifts were all delivered
The house was quite a sight
We went out to the trailers
Just the drivers and no press
This was our Christmas present
Started by a child...who'd have guessed

I knocked upon the trailer
All the trucks lined up the way
We still had twenty four hours
Until it would be Christmas Day
Katy stood before me
With her mother in the back
I stood waiting on the doorstep
Dressed in red with a large sack

As soon as Katy saw me
She new that Santa Claus was here
That he'd seen her letter
And was here with Christmas Cheer
When her mum saw all the trailers
Lined on both sides of the road
She said to me "Dear Santa"
Where are all the trailers stowed

I told them of the letter
And we got them all outside
It didn't take too much convincing
That we would be going for a ride
When we turned up on their crescent
And we started for their place
Each one of them was crying
Tears were streaming down their face

The house was lit up brightly
The trees were lit up too
The house was their big present
Everything inside was new
The parents stood and wondered
While the kids just went on in
They asked us why we did it
It just took a letter to begin

We made Christmas for this family
We brought a Convoy across the land
Every one who heard about us
Pitched in to lend a hand
We may not quite be Santa
But, we helped him with his load
And next year again at Christmas
There'll be a Convoy on the road

some had sports. some terror. all were poor. to all I said I was the best child available. my mother’s diary was mailed and mailed again. declined by thieves. no one will think I wrote this. my father. father standstill. vocal coach. my sister’s mouth a spittoon. her loneliness that of a short distance walker. her tattoo a blanket for a frightened birthmark. teachers were clever. could gain only the ground lowered into the pit by sports and terror. teachers were the future. were right not to waste my fingernails on a chalkboard. this one thought a nail my body stayed skinny for.