Front

The ocean's weather got blown off course.

I'm wearing it like a cold blanket,

on the porch,

watching its approach

from the south.

My fingers are numb and my face hurts.

It's good to feel something for a change.

As I Carry Mine

Imperial candle.
See Margo entered,
pending,
in process.
If yes, see attached.
Train cars under the orchard’s eaves.
Notice only, during the age
Of troglodyte reign.
Several fifty.
Some didn’t make it that far.
The district division is small enough,
important enough,
to carry in your pocket
as I carry mine.

I Just Want It To Be Over

Terrible summer.
One of the worst I can remember.
Every day is another humiliation.
Everyone around me is a reminder of my failings.
I shut my eyes and hope they never open again
and that the life inside me
will pack up and move on.

Salter's Point and The Trestle

When we had nothing

to our good names but time

we wasted the flower of our youth

down at the trestle.

Up in the bones of the span

like bandits laid and waiting

hours and weeks passed;

nestled and lazy,

in dovetail joints

of creosote slick thighs.

It was there

under the track

we waited all ears

for the bright iron hum

telegraphing the arrival

of every southbound train.

We came with pocket change offerings

spread out for sacrifice

along the ribbons of track

running ambivalently

above our foolish heads.

When we had nothing

the only buzz you could cop,

the only rush that was free,

was waiting for you

under the trestle rails

with the promise

of each passing train.

Show Business

Last night they got to talking about show business.
The lump in my throat bobbed as I tried to drain a tallboy
and avoid participation in this animated conversation.
I heard numbers and big plans get tossed around with logos and stickers.
There was some rambling talk about “getting it into the right hands”.
Before anybody could ask me what I thought about the matter
I excused myself to go down the hall to the bathroom and vomit.
I hate show business. I want no part of it.
One of these days, I know it’s coming:
I’ll have to excuse myself to leave the room
and never come back.
I hate show business.
I want no part of it.

Cheer Up

Cheer up.
I wish I could.
Nothing pisses off people
more than a whiny white bastard
who’s got it so good
yet finds himself so miserable.
Cheer up.
I wish I could
but with each passing day
it becomes clearer to me
that everything is the same
as it was in high school.
Time does not pass
and things never change.
Cheer up.
I wish I could.

I Am My Own Prison

I am an incompetent idiot,
a creatively bankrupt,
charismatically challenged,
amateur adult.
I am an unproductive citizen
who despises the accident of his birth.
I am a natural born follower,
mute in the presence of my betters
who outnumber me.
I am a disease,
existing in constant fear
of discovery and remedy.
I am a ventriloquist’s dummy,
propped up by hatred,
animated by jealousy,
voiced with self loathing.
I am my own prison.