They look at me, what

did I say?, I thought I heard --


someone else speaking.

I enjoy writing

tear-off calendar poems --


The same every year.

You said we'd leave this place
But it's all over now
Everybody's gone for work
I'm still stuck in this small town

You left for work that morning
The day that I made coffee
There was something in your eyes
That began to make me worry

You walked out the door
Like I was nothing anymore
I held onto you so tightly
You eventually pulled the cord

Was there nothing at all
That made you want to call?
I memorized your number
For when you'd have time in the fall

But once a year had passed
I realized she was never coming back
Her only desire was attention
But I cannot give
What I do not have.

Unexpected things

never startle me, I just --


respond too slowly.

She visits my house,

and I am a guide who learns --


what things are special.

Live an eternal

present, or learn your lessons --


time and time again.

Pleading for a purchased god
Romanticized for its ancien régime
Celiac, and yet I licked the wheat paste
Of the letter I was was trimmed A4

In all that time spent by the basin
(and its traffic-trimming wetlands)
I only rode my bike to the depot
To color code my calendar

When capital kept its calls collect,
When the gravy train kept me idle
Each chamber would be emptied
Fruitlessly: punch drunk with praise

(Indulge a little)

Each from four through five: orchestrated
The plains always claim the sixth
(Respecting the tradition of western folk)
Only three will ever threaten treatment

I don't ask Do you

love me? as long as I learn --


to understand you.

Compete for your attention,
why would I?

What's the payoff, as they say,
what's in it for me?

Did you learn that?
Did your culture leave you a little,
enough
to know
you got a price to pay for any rest,
true rest, trust me, in peace,
you can't earn that.

Step by step I walk

through the landscape, more and more --


it penetrates me.