the forgotten woods behind the library
were sunlit beauty
a swampland memory
where the mirror under the trees reflects a past

we walked through the park
the grumpy woman with the dog
and her happier husband
the train tracks that ends in a shed

those statue children
and their invitation
to come and freeze in the dance
and perhaps go fishing later in the other statued silence

the holiday
is a photograph in heat
some comfortable sleep
donuts we made, 7 to eat



lean in
back out
and refill
old coffee end of the pot
cold out, see the breath

coffee heard as pepsi
i fuck up the skillet order
substitute california for country

the discomfort of people
in a job about people
a server’s service

put together

the days i am defeat
are replete
the projects i have to complete
sat at my feet
in peaces
i know what peace is
i remember what sleep is
i wish i didn’t know what defeat is

these instructions
all the nuts and bolts
the manufacturing faults
instruction writing dolts

i want to walk away
leave it all unfinished
if it’s a game
i don’t want to win this
something like blame
or shame sits inside me
a monkey sewn to ride me

one war
not a won war
a feeling of bad weather
tied to some kind of tether
i am not well put together

homeless dance

up from behind the bush
buttoning up her blouse
and the homeless move around
as if choreographed
crossing the road in a pirouette
all with faces you wouldn’t forget
humans in a whirlwind

i stand, fixed to the spot watching
thinking there has to be a solution
no notion to not look and not notice
and not help
and not forget that these are human beings
and that they fall on hard times

the late wake

the late wake
is a sunday thing
a cat philosophy
something i’m trying to break
i want to be up early and working
not horizontal and shirking
a cat lays and basks
i want to be completing tasks
i’m a coffee driven writer
a literary prizefighter
not an allday snoozer
a time loser
an easy ride chooser
a lay back boozer
a scant sleep grabber working all the time
time wasting is something of a crime
i have something to say, don’t want to be a mime

on two wheels

no one has bells on their bicycles anymore
they just holler out behind you
and no one knows how to use their gears
legs rolling around in extra effort
parked on the kickstand
you are pissing against the wall
pedestrians beware
bicyclists despair

you sprint past me on your mountain bike
and wait to ambush me for money
asking donations for a sandwich
as i trudge past on foot

sorry dude
i’d be buying my own sandwich
if the rent weren’t due
i’m hustling just like you