Reclining in their rocking chairs, the brothers Beau and Cletus gazed despondently out
Past the final farm toward the convergence of the worn highway
And the fritz horizon. Cows paused their chewing; an ashy sun
Obscured in incongruous fluffs of cloud; it grew
Greyishly chilly. "Shame the kids're movin'," Beau squeezed out before a deep belch. Cletus only
Mumbled, his voice lost in the light drizzle rapping on the milky sheet-plastic roof. The
          porch

Was unfurnished, save the chairs, one ashtray, and a novelty sign reading: "Get off my porch."
Cletus took a long, pensive drag off a cigarette before stubbing it out.
He coughed a raspy croak wetted with sixty-six years. Besides Cletus' sporadic coughs, the only
Distinguishable sound to be heard in Moody Creek wafted in from the highway:
Rattles of the day's final Spokane- or Boise-bound semi-trucks grew
Inaudible as Beau transiently  murmured, "Purtier than a string of fried trout, that there
          sun-

set." "Whaaa?" Cletus wheezed. "It's settin'," answered Beau, loosely gesturing at the sun.
Fractaled-orange-shafts webbing manifold shades of yellow – amber, belge, stil-de-grain – grew
Plumply stout upon the farmland, edged between properties and crumpled on the porch.
"I'll tell you what Beau – I'm glad they got out,"
Cletus uttered with assurance, his eyes scanning the reaches of light upon the highway.
Beau fixed his cap, musing over Cletus' words. He cleared his throat before beginning, "If
          only..."

Then stopped and itched his belly-button. Cletus turned to his brother. "I know one thang only
Beau: they'll do good in California. They'll be livin' high on the hog. Yer son n' my son
'll 'ave secure futures." Jack nodded somberly. He hated the highway.
He hated its ability to isolate everything. It had been his original revamp, the now-rickety porch,
His first project on his fixer-upper after marrying Dorothy West. They'd wed out
In his father's corn field; bought a house a mile or so down the road. Kids were born. Love
          grew,

And in its growing all things tangible and gorgeous – like tangrams piece together – grew:
The farm, the house, savings account and family. They ate hearty; drank canned beer only –
Living was smooth – but it changed when Dorothy took Little Dale and got out.
She wanted what the farm couldn't give or grow, leaving tiny Moody Creek with their son
As the last moon of May, 1955 went up. "*****!" Beau had yelled from the porch.
He'd woken to his Buick's rev and watched its taillights wane upon the
          highway.

And though he remarried, this was, in truth, mostly why Beau never squarely looked upon highway.
The light drizzle grew
Heavy, intensifying. "Gosh **** rain might near knock the coverin' off the porch!"
Hollered Beau. Cletus looked up and blew a cloud of thick grey smoke. "It's only
Rain Beau. No need gettin' ornery." That morning they'd seen off their youngest sons as the sun
Was just rising. One left to work for a dairy ******* in The Valley, the other went to figure
          out

Himself and his career. The porch shuddered. Beau absent-mindedly repeated "If only..."
Daylight died; black inked upon the highway. Cletus lit a new cigarette. Moody Creek grew
Dense, compacted by the darkness. The sun inched away. Cletus hacked and put his cigarette
          out.

I wandered blackout drunk lost
trading cigarettes for directions
from crustpunks who took swigs
from bottles of cheap plasticsugar alcohol

Muttering to myself in selfdefense
sublimating the toxic fire in my eyes
into soundwave echoes
bouncing off of plywood windows
and abandoned stolen cars

Angry limping at breakleg pace
down the heroinblessed streets
of yet another vibrant American slum.

inspired by Gertrude Stein*


Wood turns hard and shows its spaces. This is less convincing. If it spoke more no one would listen. It is solid and we don’t fall through. It reminds there is no remembering.

The pieces don’t touch, just spaces and they are put together. This is what is done without thinking and we still remember. If something is seen and nothing more than that, it should seem normal and grey.

A flag is innocent and spreads. Its colors don’t move and are divided and smoke pulls off more. If it is done where the whole is partial, leave the tab.  

The grey, the color grey, needs nothing more and never asks of anything.

Overalls can be hard, where wool socks are underrated and tired. It stays this way.

How can something so gapped hold calmly? Not because there was a touching, but because of something less. The blanket is blue and grey and holds if nothing more than that.

If hands are obvious, if hands are obvious and touching and hard, still no one listens. If hands are obvious and so is wood, there is nothing more.

Blue is guaranteed. Blue is guaranteed and so static, but ready.

I left the dust and tumble weeds
to be incomplete and moved
back east to where I was born

The trees crowded together
There was a change in the weather
I asked mom ,
"Is that rain?"

The people were crowded
With one thought and mind
Everything was designated
to be black or white

We caught catfish from
the Alabama River
Swam in pristine streams
full of soapstone

Then we moved again
Crossed Texas on our way west
Crossed the continental devide
Came to rest in Spokane

I sang God Bless America
while sitting on a fire hydrant
Looking at the purple
mountain's majesty

Then off again back east
Crossed Texas the third time
To Panama City , Florida
where we came to reside

There I learned
to abide by the tide
And that some things
you can't hide

Two and a half years
of bliss
Then we moved
once again

And again and again
and again and again
and again , again
again , again , again . . . .

All my travels
All my travails
I have found home
in the moment within me .

I rode in the black back seat
at the age of three
From Wichita to Selma
in this land where nothing comes free

Across Texas , Arkansas , Mississippi
under stars I dreamed
While a heartbeat
was ever following me

Strange the things we choose
to remember and recall
Are the things maybe trivial
But are another brick in the wall

I lived in Panama City
until I was twelve
Swam with sharks and rays
Fell in love but on it I won't dwell

I ran with wild mustangs
in the wilds of Spokane
Climbed up the Rockies
Trekked the snows in a winter wonderland

I slept in the desert under
the most gorgeous stars
Ate mushrooms and peyote
trying to figure out who I are

But there's no place
No place , like the one
Where you were born

No place
on earth
Can lead you away that's far

There's no where
Like the dirt running
through your veins

There's no place
like the place where
you got your name

"You can't be in two places at once."

My palms are faced towards India
The space needle owns my eyes
My rib cage is Italy
My heart, belonging to Paris
My knees wobbled and weak in the direction of the Cayman Islands
The sting rays rubbed up soft among my calves
The breath caught in my lungs the second
I head east
Where you own my oxygen
in Spokane
My toes are pointed towards Portland
where mystery, wept tears,
and the abandonment of my father
resides.
New York city holds
the inferior restlessness within me
and this tiny little room
is where "I am."

******* flame in my bloodstream
Sold my coat when I hit Spokane
Bought myself a hard pack of cigarettes
In the early mornin' rain
Lately my hands they don't feel like mine
My eyes been stung with dust and blind
Held you in my arms one time
Lost you just the same
Jolene, I ain't about to go straight, it's too late
I found myself face down in a ditch
***** in my hair, blood on my lips
A picture of you holding a picture of me
In the pocket of my blue jeans

Still don't know what love means
Still don't know what love means
Jolene, Jolene
Been so long since I seen your face
Felt a part of this human race
I've been living out of this
Here suitcase for way too long
Man needs something he can hold onto
Nine pound hammer or a woman like you
Either one of them things will do
Jolene, I ain't about to go straight, it's too late
I found myself face down in a ditch
***** in my hair, blood on my lips
A picture of you holding a picture of me
In the pocket of my blue jeans
Still don't know what love means
Still don't know what love means
Jolene, Jolene,

or Portland, or Spokane
A two-bed hideaway with pale green shutters
and a patchwork quilt of a garden. Neighbours
that bring wine and friendly company late at night
me and you, and our future children
will swing in the backyard. Porch light blazing
and moths fluttering in the rays of gold
that penetrate the darkness beyond our little nest-egg.
Autumn will bring gloom and rain will patter on the roof
but we can snuggle up on the couch.
I'll do my best to cook at thanksgiving
have our families to stay, talking loudly for hours, then sleeping
in every quiet corner and dimly lit study.
Sometimes, I'll seem faraway, in the land of bad habits and strangers
I'll stare out at the stars and wonder - what if I left?
and I can't promise that house will be ours forever
but right now there is nowhere I would rather be
than that little house, timber and glass
everything will be snug and warm, I promise.

There was another brother whom history forgets
And though born a fisherman, he preferred other nets.
The coterie of rink rats who lived on the Left Coast
Thought he was sine qua non, and they would often boast
He’s better than his brother Joe,
Es-ki-mo Di-mag-gi-o.

His slapper had heat to make a goalie wet himself;
His wrister was money either five-hole or top-shelf.
After the goaltender felt another puck **** by,
He’d curse and bang the crossbar as fans took up the cry
He’s better than his brother Joe,
Es-ki-mo Di-mag-gi-o.

He dominated rinks out West like no other man
From Calgary to Saskatoon, Fresno to Spokane.
He’d hat tricks in Winnipeg, six-point games in Moose Jaw
Moving scribes to hackneyed verse written in fits of awe.
He’s better than his brother Joe,
Es-ki-mo Di-mag-gi-o.

Though the man was a fine skater, strong, agile and fleet
The slightest flaw in the ice caused anguish to his feet
And he would scold arena crews—What’d you call this mush?
‘Tis nothing but chips and ruts; I’d rather skate on slush!
(More prickly than his brother Joe,
Es-ki-mo Di-mag-gio.)

After one match in Oakland on ice unduly rough
He stormed into the locker room, shouting ‘Nuff’s enough!
He didn’t change his sweater as he stormed out the door,
Hopping on a trolley car, to be seen never more
(He’s a bit loony, don’t you know.
Es-ki-mo Di-mag-gi-o.)

He was sighted in the Yukon, once or perhaps twice
Engaged in some mad mission to find the perfect ice.
Neither man nor beast can say what became of this fool,
Though bits of skate lace appear in petrified bear stool
(Tastes better than his brother Joe?
Es-ki-mo Di-mag-gi-o.)

Winds howl through stricken streams,
From the moonshined mountains spiking Tennessee.
Steaming copper pipes protect like turpentine,
Cherish the soil from vine to wine.

Sweetwater medicine crosses Big Sky Country lines,
And a Capitol drowns voice's reedy rhynes.
The Carolines and swamps round' New Orleans,
Spokane's foothills spire like Woodland's Cherokees.

Mushroom clouds swooped ponderosa pines,
In the desert one day, made the earth cry.

Oh Beautiful, not time to flee,
The Jersey Wetlands or Houston's calamity,
Analogous feats, magnetic societies, 
Build a bridge across contrary beliefs. 

_trf

I hear about his face
Being burned.
I hear spokane played
make belive with
The true meaning
of recovery.
Are they all playing
with syringes and
needles so sharp
You could weeve
the strings into
Linnens and
portraits of your
friends disapearing
from every hill
You lied about painting.
Over and over we all
waited at the end
of the tunnel.  until
the last train gave us
the message.  "hes on his own now"
I know they all tried.  
But now they will wait
For him anticipating the sounds
Of bells ringing a cadence saying
" hes somewhere else now"
They ask his mother
" wheres evan"
Even if she doesnt know
Where he is anymore.
Shell drum up half of
The true answer
Simply saying
The words
"I dont know"
"I dont know"

I sat on a hill one day. It was spring. Maybe. Or maybe it was winter. Spokane can't make up it's mind anyways. I watch while the horizon tucks the sun into the blanket of darkness as night falls upon the everything bright. I forget that I'm still moving. That the earth doesn't slow down for me. Or that the eucalyptus forest in western japan still feeds pandas while I sleep.

There was a new feeling of glory that day. Of power raining down into my fingertips. The kind of rain that won't stop when you dry your hands. This long awaited arrival doesn't have a a departure time. Full steam ahead and best foot under.

I built a mountain once in 8th grade. Molding every tip and compressing every valley. That's this moment right here right now. I will stand on the top of this elevation, all 13853 millimeters of it and I'll be proud of the mountain that lay under me. We are too tragic to think we must all conquer mt Everest. That we must be the first and the best in the west. I want to be first at the trivial accoplishments. I swear on everything I'll be the first to find my miss matched socks. Or that one time I was the best at listening. It's so hard to listen when there's an orchestra in your lungs waiting to be heard. I want to be the first to the playground to show them how serious I take this thing called life. How I'll swing on those swings with the confidence of a bald eagle. Did you know they can glide for 3 hours without flapping their wings. If only I could focus for that...... There is a bird in my chest is what I mean. One that wants to fly. It's stuck in this cage of opinions and small talk keeping it at bay. Telling it how there is no time to reason with centrifugal force. You get too dizzy when the time comes. I'm dizzy with life. I have spent the last.... Too long trying to see straight. To figure out what path I should take. I want to be a teacher to help things with their smarts and stuff. Or maybe I want to be a garbage man to help people get rid of all their regrets with non of the space. I'll tell them to have a nice day as I tuck everything they stopped caring about Into my pocket. I want to be better. Better than I was before. I will be more than everything. Because right now I am more than a 10 letter word and I can prove you wrong with a pen. So as I show you 5 pairs of matched socks, holes in my 3 pairs of underwear, and a closed drawer I don't want to talk about, I hope you know that I am trying to show you how much I care. It's the trivial things that matter to this ghost box of a heart I have.

Oh..boy, O'Malley hit that ball right outta the park
the crowd hollered and wooped, my bet has made good
I've got lolly in my pocket and jolly on my mind, I scrammed
moseyed down to Fat Albert, had a whiskey and sour, things dandy
so as the sun set I walked down the block and hit Green-a-gogo
the jazz notes were jumping, those cats sure know howta swing
at the bar I called in a tall dry Martini on the rocks, lit a cheroot

Ah, this is a breeze, ain't I just got the freeze with them lollies cooling
She came out of nowhere, looks like Rita Hayworth, sashayed like her
red lips pouting, hips rolling and legs she borrowed from Marilyn
that's Monroe, if you needa ask, she smelt like heaven in springtime
Howdy handsome, she purred, have you been waiting for me
Nope I said,  just landed five minutes ago, what's your poison, honey
make it a highball, easy on the rye, ain't got my guard with me now

this babe was a looker, she's already got me in a choker, my oh my
what brings you down this way, she purred as she took a slug
to find you, I said, cool as a cucumber from Lebowitz Deli downtown
well you're in luck, she said, I am found, she said again
I inhaled slowly and blew cheroot smog away from ole brown eyes
I have two thousand bucks burning a hole in my pocket
I still had my senses too

Hey babe, I said smiling, this ain't no shakedown is it, honey
she smiled and shook those dark tresses, do I look like a moll, she ask
I tell you this honey,.............I’m a dark chocolate lover,
Never had the buzz with the white stuff
so don’t be offended or think me mean, when I say,
I have no interest in the white chocolate,
I prefer them to have no jacket on too
if don’t have a jacket you will know exactly what i’m referring to  

I smiled and winked at her, lets put it this way, I said
I am black as you can see, but a Rabbi visited when I was born
so the Rabbi took your jacket away, she offered, did you a favor
we both laughed, danced, chatted and as we left. I asked
Do you just waltz into bars and pick up men, just like this
She stopped, looked me in the eyes  and said
You're from Royal Spokane Avenue in Philly, aren't you
I nodded, surprised
You're a lawyer, you're divorced and you're a **** gentle man
my friend told me all about you, now lets go swimming with dolphins..............

If the Russians Find Out That the Iced Tea was Bugged

If the Russians find out that the iced tea
Was bugged they may well conclude that Area 51
Has tested Tom Brady’s jersey which was stowed
In a bus station locker in Donetsk

With the claim check issued to Kellyanne Conway
And passed to a North Korean operative via
A secret drop in a hollow pumpkin
Behind a voting machine in Spokane

That was hacked by a rogue albino nun
Carrying secret numbers for Rand Paul

If the Russians Find Out
That the Iced Tea was Bugged…

If the Russians find out that the iced tea
Was bugged they may well conclude that Area 51
Has tested Tom Brady’s jersey which was stowed
In a bus station locker in Donetsk

With the claim check issued to Kellyanne Conway
And passed to a North Korean operative via
A secret drop in a hollow pumpkin
Behind a voting machine in Spokane

That was hacked by a rogue albino nun
Carrying secret numbers for Rand Paul

To Picture me,,
Not in love
Would be blaspheme,
And yet I sit
In reflection,
Recompensed by transgressions.....
Committed and convicted of after being forewarned......

Un fathomed .
..forgotten
Forlorned
Chalice full of scorn
Crestfallen
Mourned by the dead.....
Reduced to
Sit in sacloth
Pouring ashes on my head...
Like a pig on a spit
Basted with unsavory things I've done
Seducing  Karma was easy.......
A ruddy little nerd,
Told her she was pretty
The starving little dog ate every word.......
Filtered her eyes with poetry.....
I played the field....
Unconcerned....

Convinced her I was the one... ....
On the day we were to be wed
Fleeced her of everything
Left her at the alter without my vows being said......
now she's Obsessed
No good deed goes unpunished
I'm hex, vexed and hazed...
every glib quip spake
Or every woman that says goodbye to  me.
It's her face I see!
Knuckles
Bleed
Racked with splinters...
Railing loves door...
Afraid to let me in...

born for this chase.......let the race begin...
my heart to carry me
But my souls worn
Thin

..grasping for straws gasping for air.  
Used to return from the forge strengthened shiny ,glistening......
Clean.....
Now I'm the dross.

Fin...
..
.

.

I was born in Selma
My younger sister ,
Wichita Falls ,Texas
The oldest sister in Orlando
My only brother in Spokane , Washington

There was always a distance between the members of the family

Lightyears reflected in our eyes . With no tears spread .

Nor no affection for the
place of the dead

Now I write about the past
For there is not much future ahead

From Texas dust , to the clover fields of Alabama ,  to the mountains of Washington , the seas of Florida , and Birmingham

As a child I slept at night in the back window of the Plymouth from Texas to Selma with the thump of my heart for company

I thought it was the monster taking one step at a time following me to Selma to **** me

Now I know when I hear no more footsteps he has found me

Winds howl through stricken streams,
From the moonshined mountains spiking Tennessee.
Steaming copper pipes protect like turpentine,
Cherish the soil now, sow grape seeds till wine.

Sweetwater medicine crosses Big Sky Country lines,
And a Capitol drowns voices reedy rhynes.
The Carolines and swamps round' New Orleans,
Spokane's foothills spire like Woodland's Cherokees.

Mushroom clouds swooped ponderosa pines,
In the desert one day it made earth cry.


Oh beautiful, ain't time to flee,
The Jersey Wetlands or Houston's pleas,
Hammered nails, wasted woes,
Build a bridge across contrary beliefs.


_trf

Spokane Washington
an ounce of **** from the dispensary $98

Grand Rapids Michigan
an ounce of **** from the dispensary $225

BOTH EQUAL THC LEVELS
LOCATION, LOCATION
LOCATION

The Chronicle carries a Spokane story unreported

I claim fame as a first resident
Two apartments

304
603

A Chelsea hotel
Blank canvases whiskered and primed
9 months of feminine devine
one pivotal girl
Her and I
shattered misogyny
from ceiling to wall windows
a flammable mother daughter force
soaking and smiling
in the gritty face of  Spokane
2 floors below us we found our landing
a relationship meant for cinema
Single mothers
laugh and snarl and bear down
skipping hibernation
dark humored and vinyl loving
wiping our kids' noses
and our own
All the while flying above it all
two moons among a jilted sky
Always asking ourselves "why?"

The Chronicles continue..

A farm sink
Mid century modern bar stools
An oversized satirical monkey piece of art
I bought at an auction financing a blind goat
These items were all there
They all sigh
remembering when I held my breath for too long

I survived suffocation from grief
The women in my life suited up
Battled tank into biting coral
handed me their bubbling piece
I decide on oxygen over hydrogen
White over reef
These walls carried me.
Abuse tried to tell me a different story
"Notice to Vacate" was a friend of mine
603 was my muscle
She gave my daughter and I glory

A vampire tried to merchant our space
in many forms
Little did he know, we only thrive in light
I can be proud to say
I left my glorious gargoyles on my own
as soon as I knew I could protect myself
and my story.