It’s three A.M. and the kegs are dry
200 miles from home
A room full of batting blue eyes
All akin to that ole travellin’ bone
Tobacco stains my fingers
As the whiskey trickles down
Enticed by your alluring sways
Left writhing shaky ground
Play me, again
With fingers most fair
Witness our descent
Adumbrated smokey air
there’s going to be smoke.
billows and billows of acrid
burnt tobacco and chatter
and mindless waifs prancing
through the darkened room
like lumbering smoke stacks
spewing their plumes and
their gossip and their small
talk. red and blue and green
lights will trace out their borders
in contrasting lines. hearts will break.
minds will meld and the liquor. oh the whiskey
will fill each glass, again and again
and again. and at the appointed time
i will take my seat under a soot
stained beam and fire up my
soul – and a Lucky Strike.
i will reach down deep and lose
myself when the drums begin to pulse
and the steel strings vibrate through
orange glowing tubes and the crowds
fade and the lights fade and the smoke
fades and the liquor fades and i sink,
until gone, into that place where only
i can go. respite, soul, and Rock and Roll.
in the small hours of morning
spooky shapes and falling dreams
disturb her angel sleep and
with night-heavy eyes she rises
- yellow blankie in tote -
and stumbles through shadowy
corridors to my bedside. tiny fingers
poke and prod me from my slumber
rousing me unaware and ill-tempered.
with a softhearted voice she stirs my
soul and i lift my covers high; fashioning
for her a tent of peace in which she slides.
huddled against my chest, our lungs
in sync, she falls fast asleep in my
embrace; so tiny, so pure, and now
so safe.
when Winter dies, so do i.
prickly, gray tree bones stretch
towards a sun drenched sky.
the blue above illuminates
the brown below; shameful
and sacred sortilege.
when they lay me down, embalmed
and well-dressed, will i bother to mind
such a surreal day? from floating
rafters above? or when my cords are
finally loosed, will i run with abandon
under all the naked trees?
does Winter even happen in Heaven?
i gravitate towards larger souls
souls that pull with invisible strings
those heavenly bodies that’ve drifted
too close to something bigger, something grander
she is the storm. she is on the inside of
me. a blister to the veins and a wound of
the heart. her smile will break you, should
those beams of Sunday afternoon sun
break curves around the magnolia and shine
like diamonds on her glistening lips. they
part, clumsily and you are broken. less than
a man, bewildered, and uncertain of those
lovely things once known. fret not, good sir,
for in a daze you shall recover the precious
thing that was lost. it came to me in a dream.
most precocious, she alighted at my sill. elbows
delicate and pressed gently against the dark soil
of the window planter. the pansies froze with delight.
such grace, none of us had seen before. she
stared through me, her gentle finger tracing
figure eights in the black dirt. “Would you come with me?”
she quizzed as nearby swallows ran up in suicide bombs
towards a crow, faltered too close to mother’s nest.
my attention wavered but for a moment before the
sharp corners of her mouth stretched over ivory cheeks.
such beautiful mystery is a face so fair. throat dry
and robins nesting nearby, i met her gaze, less than a man.
less than me. lower and lower and lower i felt the weight of
me sink deeper into me, until i was pulling myself down
into the darkness of me. but still i met her gaze. and
steadying my self, feet planted in air, my face rose to hers.
mouths only moments apart. eyes locked in soul stares.
my hand found hers, fingers gritty from the afternoon
soil. through time and space and Georgian air i closed
the gap of infinite smallness between us. and as my
heavenly body collided with her larger soul, i was birthed.
brother to the constellations. my lips found hers. broken
yet breathing i opened my mouth against hers.
death. sweet and lovely.
You bring me, heartspent and
Ravenous, to the very brink
The vibrato in the air is bent in
Rain shapes bouncing atop
Steamy South Georgia backroads
She is sweltering, dancing in a white
Cotton dress, barefoot, kicking red
Clouds of red clay into tiny atmospheres
Around the knees. Gawky girlish
Delight, I am a vine grown too late in your shadows
With fruit to bear, and none to spare.
green and lovely,
green leafy light shard,
you have flown and left
your brown carcass. you left
it strewn about my yard
in clusters and clumps and
you rode the coattails of
Summer right out of town.
you left me desolate. and crumpled
in piles awaiting the burn-man’s
flame. awaiting the sacred night
when the Lofty will light their pyres
and release me into the night sky.
but i know that i will not go free
i know that these are just fables
i will stay here, a fading ember on
Earth’s brown belly. my orange gasps
are dwindled to black. they are drained
by the wind and her careless caresses.
she owns me and does so, completely.
her love too, is like the wind. careless and
selfish. wild and unruly.
inside she hides a pain most
pure and has found a healing balm in this
sweet affection i’ve made. i’ve blended
and mixed the parts for her potion. with
gentle breath i blew across the rippling
surface, cooling it’s insatiable warmth. her lips
trembling, open slowly as my remedy slides
neatly down her throat, and seeks out
the empty pockets inside.
there it pools
and puts her wounds in the dark.
we are, somedays, just a poor
fabrication of ourselves -
we are less than reflections
i know its there in the way that you
fling your bangs out from your face
you look at me just below the horizon
of my eyes. i see that you see me,
but i know that you don’t -
you are lost in that forest of the Past
on those darker trails up on the Hills.
you are not coming back to me today.
i will wait for this to pass. where will the
wind take me when i’m gone. where
will i ever find rest from this.
a malady, bold and mulish. i am a
sore brick; hardened, fired by kiln.
and you, a mortar of mayhem
affixed to my four corners and
a ballast, albeit painful, a ballast
nevertheless.
Here it is, the
Fleeting Night
Solaced by
The Relentless Day.
We will rule
You and I
And take Our thrones
Upon the Sky.
Lest a Hand
should drive Us down
Cast the horizon
All asunder, all around.
You shall indeed
not see Me yet.
And your Dawny smile
We’ll soon forget.
This love of ours
Doomed from the start.
With darkness eyes
And sunlit heart.
Day and Night
Retreated then
And I never saw
Your face again.
your beauty is
a bitter pill;
my lover, my friend.
in all this world
i’ve never seen
curves like yours.
i’ve never tasted
honey so sweet
or felt a breeze
so gentle, as those
moments, precious
and few, spent
in your arms.
and with haste
i will swallow you
whole. the bitter
and all – in the hopes
that your comeliness
might finally heal.
around me a host
of angels gathered there
on freshly fallen snow.
sometime past midnight,
the air was cold as crystal
and stung; invigorated.
moonlight caressing her
white spine with gentle
strokes. white light to
sullen brown earth as
fingertips to flesh
and we stood, the angels and i,
for what seemed like lifetimes in that
snow, staring into your window
as you prepared for bed.
i paused, as Night swirled around me,
and glanced through the foggy
glass at you. your dark hair up, skin aglow
by the room full of candles. your towel
wrapped snugly around you. barefoot.
your eyes are a gentle breeze over
dreary-eyed daisies.
you are so beautiful, and i’m a fool
this simple little
world
dead and cold
busy, busy little bees
with no Queen. nothing
left to pursue.
blue, breathless eyes
scratch at panes as
these prickly twigs grasp
in the Winter wind.
the clouds cover over
and draw themselves up
into heavy blankets. and blankets
upon blankets. we seize these
days here as precious
and hold them like memories
we, stand aloof and indifferent
to one another. we face one
another as clouds, clumsily
heaping blankets on blankets
over an otherwise cold world.
such feigned warmth, as if the
cold were somehow wretched.
these moments, not covered over
are held in grand esteem
and like children nursing
Spring’s earliest tadpoles
we hold them in our hands
like holding water
only we are not wet
and this is not water
and these are not
real tadpoles
this, is time,
slipping
away
from
you
.
bitter cold
cleans up
this January sky
black birds freckle the
shimmering ocean above
waterless, but wet.
chilled Winter air leaks into
space in a spray
of blue
and when
drawn in deeply
my lungs expand
galaxies.
just breathe.
Today as I was leaving my office to run an errand, something in the median caught my eye. I glanced to my left and there, blowing across the brown grass, was a one dollar bill. “One dollar!?!” I said outloud. I decided to drive on, but something about that free dollar bugged me to no end. A mile later I made a U-Turn and headed back to where I had seen the free money. I even ran a red light as I was trying to determine where I had seen it. Another U-turn and I was at the spot. I saw the dollar and stopped my car right in the middle of traffic. People began blowing their horns and I shrugged my shoulders and mouthed to them through their closed windows, “Hey, there’s money out here.” I grabbed the dollar and headed to my car. Then I saw another bill. This time it was a twenty dollar bill. And then another. When it was all said and done, my traffic violations had earned me $42.00. Awesome. I hopped in my car and headed to my errand – dreaming of the new jeans I was now going to buy on my lunch break.
Two hours later and I’m driving back to the office. As I’m sitting at a traffic light, near where I found the money, Mr. Stingy in me started to whisper, “Hey, what if there’s more money?” Damn right! I made yet another U-turn and stopped my car in the road. This time, however, I found a black, leather folder. Inside was a wallet and some mail. Upon further investigation, I realized that I had found the wallet and the personal belongings of a gentlemen who was born in 1915. I searched the wallet and found a business card. Turns out Mr. Hawkins works for a Baptist Ministry that helps find housing for impoverished children and families. Perfect. I called the office to learn that he was in Athens for physical therapy after having broken his hip. Seriously!?! I got the number of his daughter who lives nearby and told her the tale of me finding his wallet and personal affects. She began to cry. It appears that the Medical Transport company that brought him to Athens had left his folder on the hood of their van as he was loaded in. They drove off none the wiser and flung the leather folder off onto the side of the road. They had been in a panic for days as his wallet and credit cards were all missing. I gladly gave her the address of my business and handed over the wallet, the cards, and the $42.
Now as I sit here at my desk begrudging the jeans shopping I had planned on doing with the free money, I am amazed that I found myself in the midst of a plot of bad intent towards Mr. Hawkins that somehow, Someone decided to turn for good. Thanks Mr. Hawkins for your service to this country. Returning your wallet is the very least that I can do for you my good fellow. I wish I could do more.
And to my guilty and greedy conscience, just remember – if I don’t get new jeans, YOU don’t get new jeans! Happy New Year.
oh my Fate
you have
struck me
once again
with a gash
deep and
unexpected.
“We shall make a libertine out of you yet.”
they quipped as my
conscience flailed.
sensing no safe
rungs left to make
my escape
i surrendered to the butterflies
within and simply let go
falling is always freedom.
flame, feather
flicker a blood red
shell in and out
of yourself. i. and
agents.
the wheat grass is rising in
balmy winded plains. your steel
is vibrating against finger
against air
Ray, against my ears.
the wind of such subtle voices
grumbling and aching of
loneliness
the atmosphere of you is eternal
and palatable. invasive and
expansive.
and i dwindle to dust
in your shadow.
chaff for the wind
and on her back
this night, under
veiled moon, i
would gladly
ride.
you dance, barefoot before me
and in slow frames your
laughter haunts even
my sunniest
secrets.
i always feel this way, and Ray too.
so empty, so past forgotten.
the sunlight in sliced beams
cuts corners out of the grizzly
air and plays games with
the white petaled daisies marked
proudly in the curls of your hair.
we pause, while he illuminates us
with smooth counterpoint and two
forbidden voices meet embracing
in the star plaid sky.
this time, my dear, it is all just for
you. soul and slender and words
spoken over candle light. words
the wind forgets for fear the blush.
and i, aye, call you to myself, and Ray too.
the spider lilies are uprooting themselves
skirts lifted, they ride the wind
wrapped ’round the mountain.
they ride the wind right out of sight.
**if this invokes a particular emotion, please share.
