i couldn't wake up today

7/26/06
i hear the twang
of someone's sadness
played
on a steel guitar
somewhere
down the street --
i am followed
by the music
like
a dog trailing
in the wake
of my travels
following
at my heels.
but the song
is not in my head
for it evolves
constantly
into newer music
into newer misery;
i am not capable
of holding such sadness
i remain an observer to it
only someone who
has known a great deal of things
can take such melancholy
and twist it to make sounds
so baleful
and i have learned very little
despite being taught
very much

//

5/4/06
i go there still
if not to dream of you (and the time before)
then to pretend that i am
to see daylight glint off
the faded manes
of the carousel horses
to cup my ears
for the sounds of children's
laughter
that sometimes still haunt
the place
like gleaming ghosts
and i watch the horses' eyes
cast to the sky
to make silent remarks
on the shapes of clouds
and their brighter outlines
do i think of you
when i think of childhood?
to think of you so silver
young & gleaming
of the brighter days
before the war

//

3/14/06
it is nearly spring --
the promise of warmer weather
and rain
looms like the last impatient notes
of an interrupted song
and i am ready this year
my hair is dripping with melted snow
and is waiting to be wrung dry
bones ache for the warmth of april
winter-cracked skin
preparing to bronze
and freckle

//

wind
wind teases hair
breathes salt air
on skin
as we set up chairs
in the sand

//

"this is the difference between us"
she says, putting her hands
over mine
to trap them there
the way i have been trapped;
to anyone else
we are talking about the weather
and it is raining
but we smile like the light
is pouring in for the first time after winter
in the days where you cast off gloves
and can feel someone
holding you
for more than warmth
"you want, and i need"
and it is raining
and my gloves
are in my lap

//

2005 #1
chills run their fingers
down your spine
until your skin
is a forest of bumps
and shivers break like waves
across your limbs

//

2005 #2
the wind
screams
a
hollow tune
to the air
which carries it
outwards
and
transports
the
sound

//

2005 #3
this renaissance
does not
come
lightly
but it does
come
and with it
brings
redemption

//

2005 #4
there is a certain sadness
reserved for loneliness
which presents itself
through boredom
and empty,
rustling fields
under a drowsing,
lunar eye.
gradually, as one
removes himself
from the city
the streetlights turn
to stars
buildings to burnt trees.
the low rumble of
aircraft
is rare and fantastic
like the yawning
of a giant
in a small boy's dream