sunday drives
and write two poems
somewhere cold
spark a cigarette
on the rock by the river
thrown horizon gazes
and unmediated shivers;
call the old friend
and say goodbye too soon
as if these colors are real
as if these colors bend over
time somewhere far off –
spark another cigarette
watching the smoke dwindles
tangle with clouds of breath
kicking lost stones with
curved ridges as if their old
stories could be understood
in ripples pulled downstream;
ice river
swept fractals and
white reflections alone
affront crumbling mirrors
and fragile glass
I’ll take an ice cube over
this diamond any **** time
and live a king in some frozen land
smoking cigarettes watching
colors blend across night sky
between specks and galaxies
and distant life –
some man kicking stones
alone by a flowing mirror
cursing dull embers and
wet feet