midnight sunshine

19 March 2010 § Leave a comment

it was some treacherous night
in late July when you and I
walked to the top of the rockstep stair,
talked of snowy peaks and hip hop
philosophy, got high on some
midnight sunshine, and
came down between where,
years ago, that school bus flipped
and where god faced off
with that redfaced little prick –
and amongst the ruckus of
the ambulance and fire trucks,
parents wailed
for their deathdefying little ones.

the skies turned grey just then
with cigarette smoke
and a hope that
the day wouldn’t ever end.

I mentioned they were killing me
but you said no,
they’re killing you

and the smell of marlboro reds
in the starry air, in my head,
is still your foreverperfume.

the devil in the hallway

16 March 2010 § Leave a comment

two and a half lifetime increments
and a spectacular sunset later,
her soul was all but sold and
in pieces along the desert road.

she had
three arrows quivered
in the hole inside her back
and a bloodthirsty heart
the devil held in
his delicate hands.

they’ll start circling soon –
the vultures, the ravens,
the winters and autumns,

collecting the depths
she’d longed for alone,
and commence
dispersing them
amongst the children
of summer’s throne.

and just like I said,
there he stands,
firstborn under
bated breath
and patient:

will you suffer his
sinisterinnocent smile?

I will, but he’ll be waiting longer,
forevermore, for you, in order
to tame the mythical lion,
to slay the cereberus beast –

the kingpin of service and toil,
redfaced, kissing your callused feet.

begin a daydream with simplicity:

12 March 2010 § Leave a comment

wake up with a shock –

(for sleep forgot to skip my invitation)
sooner than later,
they’re playing poker in a bloodied orchard,
shoving antebellum battleblimps into a
blue and orange sky.
the godhead highlights of whiteface confessions
decorate the sunshade with poetry

and somewhere,
there’s a mischievous sermon
posing existential questions to
the onlookers of death, forwardthinkers
of bated breath (new york’s undersea now)
and the solemn married few, smiling with
glee at their successors.

there will be no more drowning here,
doctor says, as he draws our scalpeled gills,
shades them in with violent bruises,
augers out the dancing demons and
replaces them with crayon wax – i
requested the magenta, but he melted
black instead – then he follows suit,
with seven leaf clovers and spades,
all clearly labelled as winter’s bane,
satan’s rose petal emporium, assaulting
hearts whose fluorescent vaultlocks
and inconvenient shopping carts –
take what you want of mine,
i’ve got entire souls to spare.

wake up with a shock –
it’s been a minute. maybe two.
the revolution’s overwith and you’ll
say you were a witness to the epic
that commenced in six parts.

a written word could not dismantle
that starry world or the stories
that were told to it: too loud a loneliness
is found with the windows blotted out
with books and trains, rainsoaked pages
and the tears they comprehend as pain (
self inflicted) and console us for
with doubt and rebel shame: plucked
and polished,

in the middle of a circus act,
we discover truth as untamed and wild –
it cannot be seized but only spoken for
and shown in proper light – A Theater
Show For The Ages – but don’t worry,
admission has been shouted for –
from fireblown rooftops,
dreary city dumps and alleys,
fornicating nuns and god’s
everprecious follies
playing nanny to rosy-cheeked
little hoodlums, daughters of
the galaxy that got away. when
they discover boyish charm,
they’ll be planning their escape.

and
those flowered dresses of volcanic ash
in the tangled atmosphere will outlast
will sway in the swirls

have you ever noticed

6 March 2010 § 1 Comment

have you ever noticed how when it snows
the wind blows and pauses to take a breath
allowing the snowfall in mid-air to rest,
for seconds a subtle and spinning van gogh.

have you ever noticed how when it snows
the mist drifts ahead of you on the road,
by its own direction and a sliver of content
as faith strays from its blinding glance.

at high speeds, it creeps along stealthily –
deadly, gently, playing games with conspiracy.
it moves like sunshine and snakes, fearless
but tempting to touch nevertheless, evertheless.

have you ever noticed how when it snows
the wind blows lines of cocaine mist across
the road, floating and knowing just where to go,
unaffected by our tires and our whims and loss.

our anger is a game to them, those wretched
flakes. sparkling with callous disdain, and
gathering in order, for war on our shame.
where did our pain go, I ask, as they made

their cold and intentional, windblown escape.
it’s behind you, their brazen reply imparted softly,
as I sailed slantwise down an icecloaked runway,
toward the drifting cars and skies crying mercy.

have you ever noticed how when it snows
the ocean fills up with miracles and stones,
flakeshadows in sunlight, elusive as passion,
creating lakes in summer that shimmer in

this everlasting place – in her eye, in his,
in your eye, in mine, and I’m thinking that
you haven’t seen it, because the sky doesn’t
open up like that, down and out with a shot

of rain to douse the snow, a sigh of wind to
let us go and allow suicidal miracle dust
to cover us with its hazardous love and affection –
with a kind and forgettable, bloated imperfection.

It’s March, and the year’s almost over.

4 March 2010 § Leave a comment

Nine or ten years ago this month, I walked into the small alcove in the grocery store in which the local bank took up residence and told the friendly teller that I would like to get twenty dollars out of my savings account. His name was Frank, and it was a small enough town that he didn’t ask me for my ID – I think he knew my mom, who was the armored car guard that too frequently found me lurking around town with my friends when I was supposed to be ‘grounded’.

It occurred to me then that at the east end of this grocery store sat a bank and a liquor store within mere meters of each other, and the temptation to either spend one’s paycheck on liquor or rob them both was ominous. The door heading to the parking lot was between them. It would be so easy. Bang. Sip. Inhale.

I asked Frank what day it was when I filled out the withdrawal slip, and he replied that it was already March. The year had already slipped through our fingers, the fast and delicate bank teller fingers from which nothing could ever escape, my scarred, teenaged tentacles, disquieted by angst and breakneck carelessness, through which Alaska’s nationsize glaciers (melting or not) could have probably snuck through without being noticed – they all had an unequivocal tension we could not explain, could not define with words or phrases from books, and they kept us from controlling the time that swept by us with the same abandon I sought in boarded up houses and buildings whose businesses and owners had left to rot years before.

– The year’s almost over, Sean.
– But it’s only March. What are you talking about?
– Just trust me, kid. You’ll figure it out eventually, but I don’t want to ruin it for you now. Here’s your twenty dollars. Have a nice day.

Someone else said once that the Ides of March is always at hand.

I think of them both now.

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