Tuesday, June 2, 2009


Breathe, brother breathe.
Forget, friend forget,
Death the wretched mess.

Wind of heaven and earth
Caress mist in trail and palm,

Give Birth----
Give Death
A tailored song.

Mourn, mother mourn.
Shed, sister shed,
Even the rivers end in drought.

Loose pockets quickly fill
With lost breath,
Upon the floor,

Too smoothly to catch.

Whether Prediction

the rain outside has dropped off, floating,
releasing cold miniature castles that is the
crumble beneath my feet.

My sneakers are like boats.
If I knew I’d have to swim I would
have dove collarbone swoop,
shift-like in essence.

Would have flung stars into
the clouds to burst my existence
in this short time of knowing.
You stand, like the unknown soldier

that walks in place, expressionless,
feeling what has happened in the storm
that creates your desires…
and shatters them.

Old Man River's Sunday Drive


There was a faded, restless note
On the rear of a handicap soccer mom van:
“Have you been saved from your sins?”
I thought I was saved by my sins.
It makes me climb from
The ladder, away from the smoke.

I could tell he was ‘saved.’
He saw more than evil.
Preaching of holy water instead of
I asked the gentleman how
He grows his grass so green?
He plants his fences without barbed
Wire and out of glass,
To be seen from

“See my scars?” he asks.
“I see the Pearly Gates in your scars,” I say.
I wonder if he’s happy.
I wonder if there’s freedom in driving
With mouths…
You can say so much more.


Ten million gunshots ring out.
I can see the bullets and shells,
How he pierced my vest like digging
Through the earth to
Get to somewhere
Honk your horn if you’ve ever
Been loved
By something bigger than
What you have been before.

Old Man Hoot Owl River Rat
Remembers swimming.
He remembers, but sheds
To oceans when he knows children
Can still do this now.
They kick when they laugh,
As if they were in dirty bathtubs.
He used to laugh when
He kicked as if he would break
Water molecules like
Eggshells because he knows
Humor only gets you so far,
Unless you flail like
A child again.


Ha Ha Ha Ha Ha—
If he does, it’s Hoot Owl,
River Rat,
Old Man River,
Stitched up soul reviver,

I’d pray to him,
Why not?
If he can run risks with minivans,
I can stretch my skin
Around thunderstorms and
Call them lightening bugs.
He’s lived most of his
Life barely living it,
I’d pray to him.