1/23/03
Impossibly smashed for a salty dance
in arm-waving, careening waves of self-serving liberty.

Walking out into a frozen world of stopped songs
dance-tripping in your head.
I've been in the cracked store of hardened gum again
carefully taking my batch of old lemonheads
on up to the wood counter that’s so old it looks like leather
and feels like a heaven full of possibilities.
man at the register says , that it?

2/14/03
With great gasping waves of a churning past
we carry our brilliant heavy trudges
across stretching riverlettes
of one simple awakening
that gleams above all other mornings
for the simple reason that it has yet to break.

4/7/03
Slapping into a closed cobwebbed door
hands open for what other hands may be inside
it’s so dark I have to close my eyes to see
and the whole time
i’m thinking of all the people behind me
in the room now where apple-eyed pirates and dirty pink princesses danced
sight comes through dusty tops of hard won wooden tables
and feet that ground the dirt once again in dance moves
of a hungry worm hardship
and hard won thirst bound lust.
There’s a well-used straw bed in the corner.

Every day that seems to slip on an icy driveway of what’s next
slightly bruises the skin over fattened hips
to mark the beginning of a ride bent on some kind of sick adventure.

4/8/03
A blown apart yard of sick grass lawn scratchings
creeps at night with a bottle in one hand and a cigarette in the other
to hide away hope under the last of a hard cold dream of snow
and just to steal away the next sweet smells of spring.

4/22/03
Everytime a white dog whelps
the earth beneath his paws dries
til one day
he gets swallowed
into the cracks with sleepy dives
and the neighbors notice the quiet
but the so-called owners
don’t notice a thing.

5/31/03

helping wet soil find grace
is like quick bantering with huge clouds.

Seems so funny to be driving.
I can feel the clumsy speed of this country
smashing past my bleeding rust,
but I can’t always figure out: why me,
in this time zone?

sand markers raise interesting little snails of questions
and you cry here
when the sun dances off of a rain-colored water
and you dance here
in a tear-filled drenge.
this is not about answers.