When the boxelder beetle died in front
of me, it was in good company.  The drapes
covering the wood and pipes softened
the sunlight illuminating stain-glass arches
behind the *****, shrouding dozens of other
dead boxelders that littered the tiles.  As
the bug slowed to a halt, each leg twitched
instead of moving forward.  The sunday service
then began and the larger pipes of the *****
rumbled through the chapel, causing the floor
to hum along with the numerous insect corpses.  
Each beetle vibrated to a slight blur and shifted
in one direction or the other, except for the one
still living; it gripped to the tiles beneath.  But
as the song continued, the boxelder began
to shake like the rest, and by the final
cadence of the prelude, the six spindles
carrying the bug curled like hooks under
its shell, lowering the boxelder bug
enough to allow a fraction less light
to fall underneath it, just like the rest.

Delayed clock
Savio lays underneath unwashed quilts
Grandmother hand made
Savio lays with a woman
“Why are your eyes so Green.”
Savio said to her lips
She had painted them very red
and when they kissed
the lipstick smudged like a charcoal drawing outside in the April rain in Maine
“My eyes flicker green when you kiss me. When you are with me.”
Savio kissed her forehead
It was 1AM
Kansas
Down the street there is a church
the yellowish orange lights are on all night
When Savio buys 3 dollar wine
He walks to the Brick dressed yellowish orange lit Church
Pick up trucks that are thin with metal
rusted at the square gas tank
rusted at the curves of its wheels
rusted at the grill
rusted at the door handles
at the hubcaps
at the bed
at the windshield wipers
at the side view mirrors
at the belt buckles
at the radio dials
at the steering wheels
Flutter by
like children throwing rocks
like Winter
like rain at 7am
Savio sits there
drinking his cold 3 dollar wine
thinking of Mexico
thinking of the magical women he had made love too
kissed
taken out to dinner and lunches and breakfasts
thinking of Long Nights with his brother
Crossing streets with warm bottles of good beer
to Neon lit bars
to bars only lit by cigarettes and tiny radios blasting
Jazz or Rock n' Roll or The Blues or Billie Holiday
Never the news

Savio looked at the woman next to him in his bed
Her eyes were closed
He imagined her closed eye-lids as a moth
With its upright folded gray wings
night
standing underneath the warm breath of a Lamp

Savio liked The Moths
He read about them
He thought of them as the poets
as the painters
as the pianists
as the ballet dancers
as the violinists
of the insects

Savio also liked Boxelder Bugs
they do no harm
they sneak in through the cracks and door openings of homes in winter
They hide underneath sheets of poems
Van Gogh paintings on the walls
Savio woke to a Boxelder Bug on his lips once

The woman that lied with Savio
was beautiful
her clothes were expensive
her body was cruel not to touch
her life was good
Money
***
Beauty
Youth

Savio had none of these
He was handsome
His face was shaded with a few days of hair
His eyes were bright from the many days in the sun as a boy
His eye lashes were long like the docks of rivers from plucking them when he couldnt sleep
Youth was a long time ago for Him
and he sat at parks
watched the kids play
watched Summer
watched April
watched the Roses and the Trees and the Water
grow younger and younger
as He
Stood still as his fingernails grew
and his teeth yellowed by each AM cup of coffee
and each AM cigarette

Savio did not care about Money
he cared about ***, and Beauty, and Youth
yet,
did not wish these upon himself
he
Admired them
like a womans smile
like a Sunrise coasting over a cold morning with white Swans fluttering in the sky
and the Cigarette tastes like purity
and the cigarette has meaning
more meaning than Death
or Life
or being Wise

He admired the woman next to him in bed
he did not feel bad for her
or envy her

He envied on the ease of her sleep
The ease of her happiness
The ease of her
carelessness to beauty
or poetry
or music

He envied the Fools

Savio lied there
Her lips perfectly shaped like clouds
or the designs on a butterfly
or the moon's glow late at night
when the birds are dreaming
when the Dog is fast asleep
when the convict is tired
when the Sun has clocked out
24/7 Sun
like an immigrant

Savio looked at the alarm clock
3AM
the womans Dress and stockings and shoes and Bra and ******* were on the floor
along with her Class Status

Savio has always been poor
He enjoyed it
He liked long days
Reading yesterdays paper that he had found on the road
Counting the numbers of Blue Mini-vans that stop at the red light
He liked going to the park
Climbing a Tree
or sitting at a dock
letting his toes and feet prune
His skin red and the smell of dirt

He liked no Television
He liked his two pairs of pants
His few shirts
His red sweater that his grandmother made him
his pair of shoes
He had a little radio alarm clock
that he had since he was a boy

His father most have stolen it
Given to Savio as a birthday present

His Father was a good man
A bad man facing society
A good man facing his family
He did what he could to get by
He drank

Savio liked to think of himself as a good man
Though he enjoyed the Vices of life
That is why he could never be Religious
Savio was too brave to be told what to do
He was too wild to have his cravings and emotions held down by leather

He liked women
He liked Drinking
He liked cigarettes
He liked Cursing
He liked ***
He liked Humor and Thought about Death
He liked to Fight
He liked to contemplate Life
He liked to contemplate Women
Drinking
Cigarettes
Cursing
***
Humor
Death

Savio
was a good man
He kept to himself
Laughed to himself
walked to bars and parks and highway bridges all to himself

He was a Looker a Searcher a Wonderer a Wanderer

And Life
is a good place to do these things.


Savio got up from his small bed
looked around his small house
opened a small cupboard
grabbed a small coffee mug

Put on his one pair of shoes
Shined them with his old shine shoe case
that his Uncle had given him

He then put on his shirt
it was slightly aged
it was slightly *****
Tho
it was 5AM
and no one would be able too see this

He then put on his jacket
a dark brown swede jacket
it was stained at the shoulder
it was wrinkled
he had spilled gasoline on it last month
and it still had a slight scent of unleaded gasoline
Even though it had rained many times

His pants were strong
They were 5 years old
rough and thick with denim

He felt good
There was no wind being blown
His wine was cold
His eyes were clear
He had a full pack of cigarettes
and a book of matches

This time he walked to the Highway bridge
sometimes on the metal fence
there would be stale roses twisted around the fence

And Savio would pluck them off
dropping them over the highway
onto cars and 18-wheelers headed to Florida

Savio sat at the small cliff
next to the highway bridge
The grass was gold and tall
He took drinks of his wine
slowly the Headlights
turned to Taillights.

A creeper on the glass mirror would love to try and find

A haven for his stench to sink and be welcomed

Wind’s rhythm and gold’s beats are changing

Your red and black arch is tears of happiness for

The taken joker with the mocking-night smile

It’s a warning for the earth worms below to curl in mush

And stretch out to envelop the broken down rock grit

All while they sleep.



Sigh and grace the side of my cheek with the back

Of your hand. Will you slap my one day? No, never—

What could a little stink bug do to harm me?

One cannot separate their treasures easily—

Or perhaps rubies did not fit with the cool black night stone,

But then I remembered that the black widow eats her mate

And I stumbled on foot for a long time before I knew you.

Enough said.



It was warm that day—very fresh and brightly lit

My wrists swung docilely, facing outward—and your fingers

Laced with my hand—silent clamps and scalpels and ropes

To turn—at just the right moment. Pushing aside my answer.

And forcing me downward as if a swarm, making me a millstone

Sinker to the restless night from which I have not woken entirely.

Half developed larvae.



It’s funny walking by a window—in the fall, or perhaps the summer

My, my there are a lot of you in haggard clumps

Creating speckled shadows that dot my inner room.

Silly, the way you’ve bit my ear, and now all I hear is tainted.

I’ll steadily walk in grey and violet. No longer a ruby.

Child, you’ve got a long way to fly—a long time to mate.

Avoid those boxelders.



.

it's all good,
Van Gough reprints on the walls,
tact in,
type writer on the carpet floor,
a boxelder bug hides in between 'U' & 'I'
I've got a dollar in my wallet,
hair on my face,
and the dog waits at the door for me to be wild,
the room is cold,
the heater is off,
the electrician is drunk,
i hand him a bottle of wine,
we end up painting the walls,
with the left over blue buckets of paint in the basement,
"now it's like we're in heaven"
the bellyed drunk brown eyed electrician,
his hands face hair clothes covered in paint,
"now you are heaven"
and we laugh,
lighting cigarettes that taste like women,
and the Television screen is cracked and leaks out Volume 3 News
some how we are free at this moment in time,
when the color of the walls are pointless,
when the television screen says nothing,
when the bathtub is broken,
and the water pipes whine,
and the mind is fairly crazy,
fairly drunk,
fairly mad,
but it's all good,
because rent is paid,
and the world's fist is taunting me,
to see how long i can go without eating,
and how fast i can create.

Shoot at the Blue white,
Moon sprouting Nevada dry desert,
An eyelash of God on a Train falls,
Pedal to Pedal,
Sand dust to Beach love making,
God is on a Train,
Crossing Afghanistan's oil fields,
Backpacking thru rubble russian poverty streets,
God,
The red pigeon,
Perched as a stone city Gargoyle,
Watches from,
Dilated pupils,
As April's blooming flowers,
Catch a winter cold,
God,
Came by himself,
A jean'd pocket of melodic junk,
Hiding in Apartment whiskey bottles,
in broom stick cupboards,
in Vinyls,
That only play backwards,
And the boxelder is,
removed from my,
Iron rust tongue,
To fly,
or.
What it ever chooses to do.

I'm finding you in the snow again
and I can't seem
to stop
chewing on
my bottom lip

in worry
out of habit

I don't know anymore

Some slightly chapped "I love you"s
"I'm sorry"s, and "I need you"s
curl around my ugly Midwest winter;
drift in and out of the sleeves of my coat
and the skeletons of these poor trees
dust-colored oak leaves
shivering boxelder branches
("Acer negundo...")

I want to sleep, just like them
Breathe backwards
Keep still
Rooted firmly
Nice, calm, steady

But I can't

I'm still waiting
(somewhat impatiently)
To pluck your, "I'm here now, love."
Your, "It's okay."
Your, "Kiss me?"
Right from your mouth

Before you can even say it.

and all the baby crickets chirp
I got the daisies planted and then appeared
numerous
red black bugs
swarming the daises the elderberry bushes
the crickets just watched all the festivity
like who are they they are not me
that is cricket talk  
especially when young
and the boxelder bugs in
swarms respond
in red black harmony of numbers
it is we the red black bugs of sap suckering
I chuckled
the crickets responded
by rubbing their back legs together
almost like
applause

10/15/2015

down by the ravine twisted woods,
By boxelder and sweetgum,
a timber rattler in the field over,

you say "those are dangerous"

"Mhm" all I mumble, stifling in the memorial of that sticky sunny summer in the forest

you say sooner or later
"Barely is enough sometimes"

Today a tree , tomorrow a bluebird
Later becoming an Elm ,
a pelican out to sea
I was once tall grass
Growing tall in the gulf breeze ,
warmed in Georgia sun , my friend
was a Boxelder , we sought the
shelter of navy blue sky windows
I fell in love with a heron sailing from
east to west , my passion was to be the afternoon
moon or a magical Willow at rest
My dad was a cardinal , my mother was the nurturing waters
of Indian creeks , my siblings were the blackberries of
July , grandmother a doe , grandfather a raven
Death is merely a transition
Life is forever* ..

Moving ever forward
occasionally
I took note of brief glimpses
of beauty
burning magenta bright
in the damp corners of my mind
back behind where the cattails
grow.

No words were said
but I heard them in your way
felt them in the clear
cold wind
lurching west behind the sun,
mottled leaves holding hands
with tatters of perspective scattering
like boxelder maple
across the slowing water.

While you worried on
making a choice of how to best
spend your next
day thinking
about
your next
day,
the message had already unfolded
like the key to a home
not yet built.

You've been given time
somewhere in the sky.
She wears your colors
draped delicate
as a rough sung song
learning to stagger
into a gallop
in air further
than you've ever breathed.

The moon whines.
Your vision blooms.

When Father Sunshine sleepily slips away
I reach to the corner of the earth and pull the-
veil over another day
A punctual Jay sings of the joys of May
In honor of gourmet feast , acorn and berry ,-
Dancing under the boxelder
A ballet with kindred spirits atop pleasant , Hill-
Country hay
The musicians ode to jovial eves , red clay lanes , -
the rest till morrow , the creak of the vanes and warm Spring-
ways ....