Sweaty tempered jawline
Eclipse evening ritual bounce
Rendez-Vous on motor freeway
daydreaming girls in dresses
and overdue bills

Cab calling silent house
with the taxi driver
old gut
father death
without word
takes me home

Remnants of chill breath
Skunk ganj dead animal
Sweet smelling sour
on highway crossing

Get me inside
Cab fare cost
Unfair coast

We will wring out the ****
from our towels by hand
and walk wandering naked
down George slapping each mailbox-

-with our hands and rhythm with our toes
We will eat dirt and climb bark in park
at night swell to the full moon’s rising
and hang in cocoons ‘till dawn.

We stayed up all night
smoking pie sticks
in evergreen fields
and up the tallest trees

The snow caught us by surprise
and we were forced to flee
into surreal falling darkness
where no man gets out alive

You had grown old
and constricting
a wool sweater
faded, itchy

Blooming light in
younger sight
have seen your eyes
grow dim

Counting rays in
your once bright gaze
and falling asleep
on your hip

Your hands are full of water
slowly dripping on the lawn
hoping it will grow back
greener than before

But your hands
have always been dry
when the sky is unforgiving
and it never rains

Your words become
soggy; moist
one grain
too much salt

Leftovers
from yesterdays
breakfast

I awake from a dream:
***** heels; red eyes;
gaunt face; sentiments forgot

I turned in my sleep
and saw that you were pale
Dead rose petals surface
from beneath sour milk

Now we're addicts looking for the hook
Starring into the sun
To be sold to a higher calling

Its the cog that drives us, defines us, binds us
The rhythm that we carelessly slap with our toes
on paved sidewalk stereotyping others
with ineptitude for rhythm.

And fingers that we caress in passing
each lip fragment truth talking deliberate dunce
pretending to be further seeking the void
To be true of the void. Truth in the void

But in fact finds nothing more
than the torn, callused tips
Lost in a nightmare daydream
weak-spell walking.

Who find themselves winded in middle journey
across open ocean plane infinite starring.
Sublime line of silver. No haze thumbed-pressed
opaque steam cloud on the horizon.

ready to land in open stretch in forever
wild stillness cured of all mental illness

“I have wine for you. I’m left of the Pedway facing the river. Join me.”

I’ve got half a bottle left
It’s got your name on it
And three other names
and my name’s on it too

I’ve got a pair of shorts
It eats all my money
And every bit of change
that I put in it’s pockets.