poetry

Poems from the Street: Between

Bridges

 

Between

Between
Between young and old,
black and white,
rich and poor —

Between right and left,
gay and straight,
man and woman —

Between Inside and outside,
thought and feeling,
dreaming and waking —

Between now and then,
yesterday and today,
today and tomorrow —

Between them and us,
you and me
ourselves —
We need to build more bridges.

August 19, 2014

Share

Poems from the Street: Hit and Run

Red Truck mod

 

Hit and Run

 

Hit and run by the truck

Sometimes known as my life.

Didn’t even see it coming,

didn’t stand a chance.

Karma was smeared

all over the road.

Zeitgeist was totaled.

Spiritual airbags

all deployed.

Angels rushed me to the

emergency room, but

the doctor didn’t

know what to do,

so I went home

to sleep it off.

Share

Poems from the Street: Listening for a Song

Song

 

Listening for a song, and the quiet

is so hard to find.

The song would seep from my DNA

like an enzyme,

or fall from the stars like dew.

The song would settle like dust

on my bookshelf,

or form like a painful scab

on my skin.

It would be about everything,

and nothing at all,

heroism and trivia,

rage and lust,

entropy and boredom —

Listening for a song.

 

– July 7, 2014 –

Share

Poems from the Street: Ride the Loop

Crank

 

Ride the Loop

Ride the loop.
Feel the burn.
Cranks turn.

From deep places
in the bone
the fire animates

sinew and muscles,
nerve and eye,
to defeat the climb.

Share

Red and Green and Blue

2012-12-11 21.55.45

 

Red and Green and Blue

Red and green and blue are safely locked in my head. Night returns with disease and obsession, obsessions. I draw a line on a dirty piece of paper. There is nothing on either side but I have created a boundary. I don’t feel any safer.

He walks to the back of the house without great conviction, out the back door to look at the alley. The painkiller makes his vision flicker around the edges. Painkillers are a gift from God when they are needed, and they are needed tonight.

The red is the blood. The green is the money. The blue is the sky. I think about a bourbon. That will surely put me away. I like the sound of ice cubes hitting the lead crystal rock glass. The red is the blood, the poison river, always escaping, falling, splashing.

He doesn’t try to count the city lights. There are too many and he dislikes them all. They hide the stars. He wanders rather than walking because he has no destination in mind. He breathes a word that only he understands. He exhales it.

I touch the steel because it is blue. I touch the skin because it is red. I touch the earth because it is green, but that is all. I am unavailable. Disconnect the phone because I know the danger. A song plays in my head that I don’t like.

He lights another cigarette and inhales deeply. Smoke trickles out of his mouth and nose, slowly, erotically. The smoke curls up around his face and into his hair. He pulls an old book from the shelf. Without even looking at the title, he begins to read.

Share