from downtown
back to your door
we swing brown bottles
and warm our salty skin
while you ache to bookmark
the middle of this july-

(your road is stretched long and far
but i know where it goes)

-we already know the summer
as it settles over salt and coats the land
and cups our skin

-its dust repeats itself
shamelessly
and drives us to porches
and brown bottles
and your ninth cigarette
and unrequited conversation-

(my mind splits itself up
when every second is stagnant-
when somewhere else keeps calling-
when my violent beast starts snarling)

and then five thirty
looks like so many violets-
queen anne's lace and cattails-
all the bouncing bees
and thrushes-

-the fields aflush with
full grains and hairs and fibers
and all the murmuring voices-

-is screaming
and so wanted
and away from the road
we walk on
(this road-
one of yours)

-looks less believable
with every step-
(the road is stretched long and far
and you know where it goes)

i could not tear away from it
to keep my eyes on your road-
you swig from all your bottles-
you follow the dust?-
can we be lions instead?

did you know there is no road?
we need only taste the air,
or glean the wind

"The tallest poplar I'll grow to be,"
said the young tree.

"Standing above the rest,
I'll be crowned the best.
Fortified and grown,
the forest will be mine to rule alone."

Ripped from the roots,
and cut down by a man in boots,
the dreams quickly faded.
"There's not much to make of me now"
Thought the tree,
whose complexion quickly changed
from wide-eyed to jaded.

Hauled onto a truck  
Off he went.
To the lumberyard,
the young tree was sent.

Chopped to pieces,
stripped of his bark.
Our young poplar was afraid his life,
would never leave a mark.

"Some wooden crates they'll make of me"
"The peaks of the other trees I'll never see"

"I'm useless, I'm broken"
"In the forest my name will never be spoken"

The story doesn't end though,
it's only just begun.
For the life of this tree,
is one that's not yet done.

The lumber was chopped, cut, and carried.
To a town of a man named Jack,
who was poor but newly married.

"I've got little money, but I make good shoes"
"I've got to take care of my wife, I've nothing left to lose"

"I'll open a store, and become a cobbler"
"And with the money I make, I'll buy my family something proper."

So Jack took his life savings.
And off he went, to open a store,
To make enough money to pay the rent.

Our poplar was still together,
chopped into many pieces.
Next to some hardware supplies,
and a vendor selling fleeces.

"I'll take that lumber, it'll do the job."
"Just take my money, and I'll be along"

Years passed by as Jack labored hard.
A few kids came along, a house, and a fenced in yard.

One day a special man came to town.
Not the type of man that you see every day,
for this man wore a royal crown.

"Wooden clogs I need for my feet"
"To keep them dry as I walk along the damp street"

A chance to make shoes for a king,
this was enough to make Jack sing.

He looked through his supplies,
they weren't enough.
To build shoes fit for a king,
would be quite tough.

"I have just the wood, "
he thought to himself.
"From when I first built my shop,
there is some left on the top shelf.

So he took the remaining scraps,
and he made new shoes.
Shoes for royalty,
clogs fit for a man more special than me.

And now our poplar finally got his chance.
To join in the royal dance.
And on the king's feet he stays.
Helping him rule the land for the rest of his days.

So, if you find yourself cut down before you grow.
Just remember, and make sure you know.
Your chance will come, sooner or later.
To become a part of something greater.

He glides across the cold asphalt
this man of indeterminate age,
Hair tinged gray, eyes to match.
Singing and grooving to the music
Of the celestial spheres heard clear as mountain waters.
Collapse into his manhood
He is not like the other men,
a beer and a historical allegory,
He will guide you to a lumberyard,
where he'll record our voice, and photograph your mouth.
Paint the walls passion red, greed green, purest aqua.

When he enters, and the portcullis opens,
Ringing of a bell, there will be noise.
You will open fifteen portals, and swim with your senses.
Outside, an intermittent, pindrop noise and Cold waters, that taste of honey.
the release ... of a night sky of solar energy,
White, red, yellow, and blue lights blazing.
He'll follow the cloth to the seam and memorize each stitch of your skin,
Bend your strings until two hundred silk pillows shower down,
Two bodies buried beneath breathing only each other.

I peer out the broken glass and what do I see but a flock of little ***** running away from me, all but one, standing in defiance of fear louisville slugger in hand waiting for what comes.    I walk out the door with spalding in hand I stand beside her and gaze at the destruction done by her hand. 160 feet if it were an inch , impressive  drive for a 13 year old girl. all anger gone, there was not much to begin. A 30 dollar window a small price to see her grin, I handed her back her ball, and with my own grin, nice hit little one, a dollar for everyone I find in the backyard I say. 180 feet over the roof   and we went our way. her to her friends with bragging rights and the moment in tact. me to the lumberyard for plywood shutters for the rest of the glass, grinning in anticipation of the days to come.

Like each blurred tree
in a roadside forest passed-
I need to write them down before I forget them.

Lost documents
in the peripheral part
of my memory-

Like each blurred tree
we pass in its roadside forest-
Each an ignored pine-
Until you slow down
and take your picture-

All the split seconds
and palpitations
and squirming sacral stirs
centered and waiting to be
arranged into love songs
and rearranged in truths.

What are these now?
What were these before?
These would come around during those moments you would only spend Alone.

In your mind-
On the drive-
Dress after dress
And tire after tire.

All the constants of Alone encourage you to go.

Go and take these variables.

---- ---- ---- ----

Equal parts synthesis and time-
Equal parts senses and pretending-
Equal parts *** and sadness-

These alone would turn your head

---- ---- ---- ----

One was its mirthful trip
Unlocking itself against the damp pearl of the sky.

No windows
and good winter-
Clouds up-

It curled into a road
and led you
and you wanted to close your eyes
and sway
with your car
along that good winter.

You voyaged romantically.

And you thought, ‘yes’-
that this was good.

And you pulled reasons from all around you
and you requested a quest
with all your favorite senses
and this allowed your
to drive down by
that lumberyard
smiling-
like an idiot.
---- ---- ---- ----