3:51 am: Looking ahead to winter

We know,the tree trunks by the
road are unbecoming
and their malaise
is a prisoner's refuge,to behold
but all i am able to send
you is a word,to push through
like faint imprints
of your head,still visible
on the bedroom window

We know,you are not in there
not even in the backyard
buried under several
feet of snow,but is it the dog?
We don't know that for sure
but all i am able to send
you is a word,to push through
like the unclean windshield
of the car,having endured
the best days of your sweater

We know you did not leave
my sock in the water tub,
my shirts on the back of the chair
or my underwear under the pillow
but all i am still able to send
you is a word,to push through
like a sea quake,you met alone
breaking against your feet,
in middle of the night

We know,it is no surprise,
the cleverness in your absence
is shaped by your hand
and,shaped like a beginning
but all i am able to send
you is a word,to push through
like a loosely tucked
anniversary card at the
bottom of the closet

We know you had been eying
winter,through the glass of
unaccountable change,a piece of glass
that put my reasoning to death
We know that for sure
but all i am able to send
you is a word,to push through
like an elegy handed behind the back
of the man who cried the most
at this funeral of the year going by

Five seconds
   flashback? No three ! Last breath
a haiku

Needful conversations

Into the conversation she entered,ass first,protesting that the division of one's mind is not to be paid attention by bummed listeners."You can go one way,or you can go the other.There is the night when two men at the cusp,decide between a stall or walking away.But neither looks to the sky.Do you think that is changeable about you? Can you start looking at what pitches sideways?",she said or asked.There was nobody else in the room,i could see her point,despite one of us being drunk out of their mind.However,It floated somewhere beyond her vivid procreation,about the place,where i would eventually stand waiting for it to grow dark,to take a piss in the open,into a veritable hole,not even the moon could fill.

Rejects of my seafaring intelligence

A river like sequence
     of old cars
bought in colors,
   of the houses
       they sit in front of

Potatoes 2

Edge of the brow
  i see signs
of the gulch brightening

All those winters
 wash stains,
on the sun's towel

Monday,a bout of
dejection behind
every lip

Two birds
magnificently in love
only one dives

Phone rings,pens clip
Pads open,ransom
pens clip again

Hunger,faces
hang,over the chest
of mother

A nail in the coffin,
sticks out,
wanting to be last ?

Early spring,
three bodies
found by the river

Flashlights,
the house
across the street

Night,loud voices
on the street
calling my name

Afternoon,bars
of the window
i try to squeeze my head through

Men who drink

Umpteen shadows
    in the alleyways
        inseparable,naturally
Men who drink
are key

Separation..'Billoo'

our slates clean,stood at the same edge
   as judgement,having an age,grew
    tears came off like white strands
    combed off of the skull of reality
     and to not jump,wasn't a way
        to persuade a proper life.
         lived by the solitary ear,
    on one lonely side of the face