|
|
Last Call
I see her
for the first time
in years and
the
old feelings
are there so
we stand and
chat and I
cant
stop staring, she
notices
grins a little
then looks away.
After last call she
walks me out the
door
of the little club where
we have met.
I look into her
eyes and say
"dont forget
me
Im the one who
has loved
you more than any
other."
She smiles and
says she will write but
she wont. We
embrace for the last
time. I
turn and walk
away with
my friend tom down
the chilly windswept
streets of Fort Worth.
Sitting On A
Sidewalk,Sept 95
Very young children in a
limousine
pull up beside
a convenience store.
Of the six
five are white.
They wear caps
and dress sloppy.
The working stiff
behind the wheel
dressed in black
speaks
into phone
with
no expression.
The pavement
is oily
and covered with garbage.
The air stinks.
The kids are junkies,
or soon will be
and some things
dont mean
shit.
BLACK SEPTEMBER
At age nineteen
the sweetest thing
youve ever seen.
It was her birthday,
and the free lunch at Denneys
wasnt quite finished.
And September was warm.
And her smile was warm.
And the Black knitted
spiderweb
patterned outfit
that hugged her form
so snugly,
suggested nineteen
suggested September
suggested
life.
" See ya later sweetie"
" I love you"
with a pleasant hug goodbye.
Henry
Harvey Saint,
of Dallas, thirty something,
pickup truck, suspected D.W.I.
Baylor Hospital, Volkswagen
Ms.
Dobson, passenger.
Ms. Dobson, of Arlington
Ms. Dobson, instantly
something a.m.
September turned
black
ALL Septembers turned black.
Black print on yellowing clipping
conjures images of black clad
shell
shocked mourners,
now slightly less immortal
asking why.
So many drunken nights spent crying.
So
many drunken nights spent driving.
Seeking deaths embrace.
Seeking solace in shadows.
Remembering black clad
smiles.
Remembering sweetest words.
Remembering hugs goodbye.
Remembering unspoken words of love.
Remembering
nineteen.
Remembering nineteen.
Again
and again.
|
|
|
|
|
|
Young girls
like ATOM bombs
leave mere
shadows of men
in their wake.
Beautiful
primal
blinding orange-white
slow motion mushroom clouds
spread open
like flowers
with sleek movement
through liquid skies.
Memories jumble
destroy and create.
Millions DIE
Millions LOVE
Millions DRIVE
home
in their cars
in sorrow
and continue
on.
DISAPPEAR
I happen to
catch a glance
in a reflective
window
of some store,
of a man
standing
where
a boy
used to be.
He looks so tired
with those sad sunken
eyes
and expression
of having
dreamt through
his days.
I want to
offer him sympathy
but as I
walk
away he disappears
from view
as well.
Erica No Longer
As I write
these lines with
your pencil,
I think of how
much I love
your eyes,
and the way
you smile and
the way you sit
so quietly under
that
lamp, knees curled up
writing some secret
in your spiral notebook.
That was when I knew
I loved you.
Then, and when Id
wake to find us
touching,
while sleeping
in the darkness,
but that was then.
Of The Thinking
Drowning
in a flood of
memories.
Climbing
a mountain of
desire.
Discovering
ideas in books
read
semi-conscious.
Flickering lights
like streetlamps
when driving
curved
thousand year old
neural pathways.
Reaping
Quantum
Whirlwinds
of
unknown
destination.
THE LOST MAN
I am the lost man.
lost to love
lost in the past
lost to desire
lost to churning
rage
and spinning thoughts
that never stop.
without a cause
or a love
or
a foe
my identity slips away
and passions fade.
However, the lost man
has always
emerged.
With a new facade'
prepared to fight
the good fight
in the name
of........
in the name of........
in the name of nothing.
|
|
|
