Filling Space

Down an auxiliary street
in the industrial park
cars and RVs line the curb

By afternoon parking
enforcement brings a
a tow to clear out those
that are being used to sleep in.

Those being used to live a life,
to cook over dying flames.

Next morning the empty
spaces are already being filled
in with different cars, different RVs.

When I Was Twenty

I read a poem with the line,
when I was twenty,
and I wanted to start a poem,
with the line, when I was twenty. . .
until I soon realized that
when I was twenty, I wasn’t
much different as now, in
my late thirties. Still, with
the same afflictions, the
same passions, the same
arguments in my head.
Mt. Olympus is a little more
real, but the gods just as
fragmented. If I had started
that poem, it would’ve ended
the same way it began. . .

Orion

Orion, who use to be the Archer,
     now the kid livin’ in the slums
     shootin’ slugs
Just beyond the reach
     of his glock
     a spray of stars
Eyes of the partygoers;
     the school kids;
     the fool kids;
     everyone tryin’ 
     to get a piece.
But his momma taught him
     how to aim for the throat,
     and his papa showed him
     how to disappear.

Red Snapper and a Little Olive Oil

They gave you
a red-snapper,
one machinist says
to another,
because it’s
the most common type
of snapper.

Now, all you need to do
is season it
with a little salt
and pepper, paprika,
and lemon and bake it.
I would
bake it in the oven.

A little olive oil?
Yes! a little olive oil
is good.

Out

Speak what you think today in hard words and tomorrow speak what you think in hard words again, though it contradict everything you said today.

Ralph Waldo Emerson, Self-Reliance

Out for a walk and I realize that everything I know to be fact, through careful scientific observation, has been told to me. The things that I assume to be true, through my own experiences and observations, are but a myth.

Continue reading “Out”

Winter

Winter

What a weird way to experience this. . . 


Something forgotten : everyone has a right to life.


     no matter the purpose or value 


I stood outside
on that cool night
watching the clouds
caught in streams
of wind pass me by.
   

seams stretched
by tufted fingers
and downy swirls
layering, stacking
the only distinctions
being darker and darker

 
The pines stood silent and watched
as I watched the moon
open up the clouds. For a brief
moment, maybe more.
 

Luminous
as if the light
were a broom
brushing away the cloud
and confusion

Layer after layer—
yet, the moon shone
through. And I, the
    sentinel—
as if it needed an audience


the wake of clouds piling
  back over the heart-orb

sinking deeper into these
  inner layers