(I Wear My) Keys On My Belt Loop

My keys to the wet and dry. I can get in to all the others just with my keys required to turn in when day breaks open the streets beginning to be a mess.

Moon For Pillow

Grapes ripen in the swelter cooling into night there are so many places winding and curling into day but wait a moment you told me to

Bear Walk Moon

Smoke soft moon before and after at least half of what gets built gets thrown away let me try the symbols scratching them into the midnight dust swiping them away before dawn when and if for moments at a time

Chalk Moon Against Storybook Midnight

Midnight's chatty edges against the Caspian Sea somewhere in dreams wait a minute here

Whisper

Haven't I said it didn't the whispering come through loud and clear wasn't it swirling inside a curl you keep winding and I keep brushing The bruises of others are more than skin deep how do we heal beside dying

More Or Less

Speak about new pressure and love above the crater the clouds and sparks of its own weather Speak about old useless going going gone fossils staying hidden as layers of this place are spinning right along Listen to the voices hearts broken so long not giving in Champs

Without The Sea

Two years trees I knew a destination air back to Eugene plain things not even hiding

Bazaar

You know it but have not known there it is in black and white and every shade in between your life depends cycles on the location it would seem flattened without towers but still a place to visit but never settle there on to somewhere else where it is new they are new and you are old young to them

Was Where

That was where we had coffee strong upstairs splintery tables looking out from our own bungalow Was it all larger then or has my brain shrunk We cannot know the choices and if there are more desperate and finding none Looking at red-- posters okay Looking at green

Beautiful Earth Tears

Beautiful rain so far cold lasting nine months then baby howling heat Beautiful rain in every space bring on the crawl dry air I remember we sat there for hours the same corners the same minutes thinking time to go

Window Critique

It was never so dark just after ninety degrees I said I would be here and I mean it Alleyways go unexplored another life and the eighties on the shelf the places inbetween calling out inconsistencies my own small eyes crossing uncrossing

Water Talk

Forever mountain finishing the story lumps of pitch glass jar holding the light

Bring The Rain

Cool nights and dripping days we see the winter shell parentheses around November Grey happens in the future fragments we find keeping them close

Wonder How It Is True

The truth did not remain. How close a call. The memory drove by. Could I catch it in time. Would it drift and sink below. Would it wash up later a treasure. A century had come and gone. Now phones and planes.

Just Said

They just said even before I could apply they just said to go there but not yet and so I missed my chance to be that do that and now spiders wait in their webs they are polite if I call on them they wait by the entrance until I've gone after seeing what all the fuss was about

Corners

Change me I say change me into a tree with comfortable branches and waves of silk Can we go there to the past in your next sentence can we stay awhile Mod ladies can wait it is you I want to hear your accent less English your honeyed tongue

Storm Power

Gather it up from the too-warm sea. Opposite long ago when you loved the Mod poet ladies to distraction or was it real? What about the weather? Were you warned about the danger?

Found

I found something to clean but I forgot what inside the other thing cement and glass. It must have been somewhere on the Mezzanine for those few moments alone but not lonely.

Eight Eyes, Legs

I could see how they hung there near the sea and their own dunes maybe for years nothing happened Then the wind came swinging I got into his private business or so he said in a loud whisper

Smoke City

The downtown buildings glow headstones framed by bossy smoke please go away! the ghosts moan we are trying to get some shut-eye but these are the words of the people

Ash Berry Grey

Denver late eighties in a hall bright windows museum? reading why do I think grey suit and greatness tall thin man speaking his words bouncing off the Flatirons but too fast too slow for an echo we were the echo audience of individual heat past boiling reduced to a nice simmer if only for an hour made us concave formal as in Burroughs all formality aside because of dreaming

True

Ate but didn't eat slept but did not dream of you because a vampire could smell watermelon and clam chowder no way out here my resume if all is true this is my life