so damn

difficult being
human
leaning back on a wall
easy elbows
smiling
"yes, tell me more"
not saying "can i lick your face" or "i'd like to punch... some.."
drink a beer, relax.

sometimes... sleepless or hurt
 I tell stories: who was i, what went right
or wrong - what could have been
done better ...often
your name comes up

chance poetry

you told me you like chance poetry 

i closed my eyes and threatened your nose

punching, blind, part aiming, part trusting: chance

you shout - the words are not my own-  new words have come by 

chance

"no" "stop" a laugh

 "don't punch" "this isn't how it goes"

sometimes fists find you

when they don't

eyes closed, 

nothing tells me where i am

where you are

laughing while i am lost

without your nose

sitting in bed

sitting, i sit

nested in: blankets pillows soft slab mattress - patterns

of knit and fabric print and the wall familiar

further out the sea )the floor is lava( and stars - glued lovingly to ceiling in 

other days

i'll get up

in other days I'll get up 

other days but now the wood floor must be cold, and laundry needs adjusting

laundry needs more than i - sitting in bed

further in: consideration: options are weighed, an unholy See )should i Rome(

options are weighed without argument. no merit. hamlet sits.

sitting. i sit. there is an impulse to rise, to walk, to go forth, but it is not an impulse

what is it? not an impulse. a thought? a possibility! there is a possibility.

why a possibility? a possibility does not move, does not become.

sitting, i sit, become aware of possibility, empty space where i am not

not standing not dressing not in the garden

nested in blankets with folds which are dry river beds where the floods rise

i sit aware i am not standing in the cold room where drafts are complaining at windows

howling angry shaking trees the winds which are pressure, air too big for staying: air becoming elsewhere

which i am not - sitting - for hours as the light draws in negative:

shadows on  the wall which are not the light; apartments in the neighborhood which are not the light;

i am not the light have i got it in me, any of the light is it in me

is each possibility equal to each other:
i am not in the kitchen as i am not in the clouds

am not the air though

i am bigger than this place -

i do not howl or shake the trees

though i imagine that door

beyond which i have greater possibility

i am not

i sit

the urge
 to search
  not understanding
   my desire
    hate everything i find
     for being not that
      grab hungrily
       another mouthful
        of sand
         turn another rock
          type another name
           scan faces
            love memory instead
             chew my biley cud
              leave steak to rot

lay on my right side room winter bright 

heard my laugh short sharp

why did he? noticed - dresser drawers: 

10 all open, some an inch some two, and so on,

not one matched nor any sealed - i think - this is who i've 

been lifelong, and am on waking, he with no drawers closed

and laundry spilling into 

tomorrow 

the hours are equal each, the hours are unequal every
one from the next divided holy from the unholy waking from the
unwaking each from each and next from next and those
from past
"veni" from "i will"
and with whom from with whomother from the
lonely ones spent not waiting - thinking merely
looking at the stars

no views today

few hundred packs of words are in a barrel
back of store behind the nuts
most come for flour, eggs

nothing left
to write
words acrostic or sonnetina
shall we dance
but i never did learn the steps
and how i'd like to ask
you
round the ball room

stopped he so at the stop bus or booth ticket exit parking
ask to 'your age' or ' like bananas'
got them talking: minute 45 out window car on story life

every day a chance walk by why feller
you what happened
me tell you
all bout it

red right hand has old scars
 like strips of someone else's body
i rub and think of blood pulling out old
skin bringing new cells like
       baby cheek material
still old right hand has scars like red
blushing fool
that time i fell i could have still
been anybody
 next day after

because another day.
hot eyes are wetter than
 afternoons in the sun - two boys in boxing gloves wax and wane at the treeline
at night no such distraction
trees in the dark and are you.
blue gloves and black gloves
was a month yesterday
i can jump rope or sleep
forgot though how to call
say 'please', 'yes', 'please'.

your only -

 if old things
someday
have not been
but are
then please
forgive

 - to whom it may

The one about expensive flatware

These two guys walk into a desert, right?
First guy says, sure is hot
Second guy says my arms sure are tired
He was an angel
First guy says let's bury our gold
Second guy says shouldn't we profit?
First guy raises an eyebrow
Second guy smirks
They high five
second guy flies away
Bartender says nothing over four percent
First guy marries the bartender's wife
everybody high fives
Second guy loses five gold plates in vegas
Works the late night circuit
as an inspirational speaker
Gets a lot of working girls pregnant
Swears he never touched them
looks at a cloud sometimes and
Winks

or he says one time - i remember - in theater no
accidents are boring - make a choice.
so when at night i get to bed just after
you have gone
the bats know where they will roost  but
i was brought up on the 40 year plan
coming home is a cue to start over
wandering.

damn god damn
its always a flash
remember flinch explode god damn
that
one time - zigged
 instead of
left or right or didn't lean over...
or groped when the door was a way to a home i had
or snows fell every year and i wasn't born most of those
and certainly made no angel - even the best man melted dare i
look now sideways
see the green grass where my mammoth's
gone

red faced and high pitched
or
eye jelly shines in the light - brightest thing in the room
should we smile? shall we hold to
this expectation or that old habit

in a dream, close photos of faces, mine and ?her - who?
a series, like strobe capture - had we been - yes - but was it secret
and the photos gone missing

something less of a dream - glances through the curtain - or -
that first time seeing you lit on the steps
of a diner or was it? that long
night cleaning and letting you go
to sleep in a car on broad street

i had a moment wanting to follow
a long tattoo
but I have a shell here
where the tide doesn't break

at night i listen at windows for coyote calls
or some jack london sign
i should be on my way

kicking ^ screaming = the only way to bed
drag oneself \/ another /= the only way to bed
we say "perhaps"
tomorrow we will
will we?
what waits
if it waits
we wait
are we waiting
and between us
nothing passes but time

Squirming as he is placed within a box, the cat once placed
sits comfortably observing with his various faculties the history and declension of the times
often a period of transition demands resistance
he kneads clean laundry before settling to sleep
because like me he knows perhaps
ghosts reside in familiar things