'brickin it'
but
still in the thick of it
getting sick of it
time
to go fishin'.

Mississippi.
it's
Tom and I because
Tom always gets top billing
but
I'm willing to bet
he'd swop.

Sunday
rode in on a white horse
pale and drawn
before dawn,
dismounted
counted the hours
until dusk.

LIFELINES

Her dead husband
trapped behind glass

laughs from his
faded photograph.

He stands in a field
of wallpaper roses.

She knits & knits
as if

she was knitting
time.

Time is cast on.
She never drops a stitch.

"Purl..purl...purl"
her tabby purrs.

At night she unravels
the day's knitting

as if disposing of all
that wasted time.

Time is cast off.

Tomorrow she will
begin again

the endless endless knitting
that is neither

scarf or cardigan
a... nothing.

A car headlight sweeps
across her husband's face

brings him alive
for an instant

and then he is
dead

forever again.

The knitting needles
pierce the blue

ball of wool
that will be tomorrow.

Sleep at last is
kind to her.

She hopes Death
will find her soon

so that tomorrow
need not be

knitted. . .

I wake up on my sofa after
Work, knowing she needs

Workman's hands to hold
Hammer and nail at

Points she's chosen for her
Pictures.

A stronger back for heavier
Things, but I'm spent. Work is

War, now. Power drill, pistol.
I bark orders at privates,

Not warnings at young, spiteful
Carpenters

Fresh from school
With too

Much product in their
Hair to want to wear their

Mandatory
Hard hats.

My heart skips beats when I
Lift. I count falling stars

At daytime climbing stairs.
Lie to concerned foremen.

A brain-soul-body Bermuda
Triangle of energies lost.

I have love to last her lifetimes,
Shoulders to rest her weary,

Closed eyes against or dig her
Fingernails into, gasping.

But for now, the ceiling I gaze
Up at stares back down judgingly,

Not recognizing this frowning
Ghost of the mud-covered grin I

Carried a few, short years ago.
The futile clawing and sliding of

A minuscule man climbing a
Colossal statue of himself.

She cries with the force of the stampede
That killed Mufasa, and I forget the
Viking blood that runs through us.

Weakness on display is a sign of strength.
She is the strongest person I know;  
Does almost everything without

Me. Barely cries about it afterwards,
When hindsight lets her see what she's
Been through.

Wake up, little heart; your nightmare is
Over. Fall back asleep in arms that
Care.

Listen: It's not raining anymore.
She calls out to me like air raid sirens
Over a city dark with enemy aircraft

Wings.
But all is quiet now.
Nothing harder than drops of

Water ever fell.
Sleep. Sun upon cloudless skies will
See you smile, drowzy; unalone.

I'll dance, but only to the rhythm
Of a true pulse.

The most interesting souls I've
Met were the ones least

Interested in being seen as
One.

I have the nose of a poet; can
Smell fakeness from a

Heartbeat
Away.

Children lie.
The rest don't even care to.