The moon was coming up
right over there the last
time they took you away
as I double~crossed myself
with the holy water
you swam in from the bath
though the ***** my break
the earth, but never your spell
remembering the sounds
you made when I touched you
the way you wanted me to
like a ***** loon at night
flying over a salt lake
and how you could sing
when you played the guitar
I would drown in your voice
like the river you crossed
and I will keep our troth
I swear as sure as that stone
over there I will learn to play
your rosewood guitar
cross my heart and hope to die.

If I were a watch man
I'd grab the moon and
put it in my pocket, man
take it out every now and then
and ask him O moon
is it time yet to give up
the ghost of my past loves
whose paths I've long crossed
lost and missed my chance
since the crows have danced
and left tracks with their feet
cut deep into my cheekbones
but I've never owned a watch
it's true (believe it or not)
or cared to know the time
and the moon looks just fine
shining up there in the sky
such a scene to be seen
instead of stuck in a pocket
of my old gray faded jeans.

The night
the moon
that woman
in tight jeans
the brave
and the lonely
drifters
we all drink
from the same pool
so when we meet
let's go down together
sane, ******, drunk
whatever
like those indigo
dragonflies
of spring
who will be
here right soon,

When I come home at night
I lock my doors
and draw my shades
like an allegory of something
long forgotten that itches
six inches deep
I turn my old radio on
and a song is sung
like a toothache
from sometime in the past
I set another place at the table
don't ask me why
for the same reason there are
no longer any shotguns
or guitars in my house
but there is lotion for my hands
each blister another
bloodshot moon
my yawn a blessing in disguise
I search the bookshelves
I built from lumber
from the tumbled down barn
I read books the dead light
their stoves with
and some that howl
like a pine on a ridge
and all these maps
these photographs
I wasted nails on
when they hung on the wall
but I'm tired of mending
all the small holes
so I leave them there
open and empty
to remind me where
the heart goes.

I hauled clay
for days
to fill the deep
washout of our love
and all your old loves
who bled to death
too, I even searched
the cold evenings
of your eyes
and ran my fingers
through your moonlight
while tasting the blood
of strangers on your lips
but I would have
to have a backhoe
and a crowbar
to finally get down
to the heart
of the matter at night
and in the rain
though I'm afraid
I would only find
a deep dark cave
with blind starfish
like those I see
swimming in
the cold sky tonight.

Some nights I lie awake
dreaming of a woman
who could make me want
to want to live another day
another year or maybe
just an hour or two
until dawn wraps her warm
arms around me once again.

A year from now a man
will be thinking aloud
asking God if he eats right
and quits drinking and smoking
will you rid me of the cancer
but God will start laughing
and that will be the answer
so the man will move to Africa
and then to India where there
are many a God and naked
dancers but the chancre
wouldn't go away so he went
to New Hampshire where a doctor
said so sad, so sad as he said
to his secretary who was pulling
up her *******, oh yeah, honey,
take all of this poor man's money
and make him feel younger again
and so swell, so she did and the old
man returned to the mountains
and his cabin staring at pine knots
on the wall that all look so strange
so he'll pick up his gun and shoot
his old woman, his dog, then himself
thinking life is a rotten godforsaken
place when a man can't afford to live
and our healthcare system is a disgrace.