Sunday, December 15, 2013

Bicycle Centurian


O wooden head on a bike
they're down on their knees

fracking behind the lids
they'll never
find a poem
in there

Just what
are they looking for?

"no one wants to help"

then again
who can trust
in God we trust


These spokes
with no center
they speak

and somehow to believe
in it all

perhaps chance

when we see you next
no arms
no legs

a fury bandage on the brain

those repeated images

kidneys out of the head
kidneys out of the head


We know you've seen it all
through the smoke

The mirror
turned in
on itself

The leather

The museum
with the peep hole

This is history

as hokey as you
may dream

and be a goner
for it


I can see
the lights

burning up

mauve night

as suggested.

Your guess as
good as any

to yell

the shelter

of another's


What else is there

I suggest

The blackest
of shadows

run along the roads

of an island

I've never

but calling

You say


Sunday, December 8, 2013

Forever Again

this day like yesterday
gray and cold
must have a different taste

I drank the oak last night
and it tasted like forever
in a script I could not read

Everybody's having fun, but me
at 49, just searching inside the mask
for the eye holes and a place to breathe

then it feels like tomorrow
I guess I know what that is
I'll look for it in my haste