Monthly Archives: January 2013

(not your)Nashville Blues(for Charlie Musselwhite)

dark
room and
a
cigarette
flame to guide
me
home
in a sound
thumb
to
stick
before the orange
flash
of light
back in the grey
black
leather
(smoke rises)
purifies
the jacket
microphone
steel
pole waiting for
sound
and i won’t speak
won’t
say a word
a
pome
or
poem
just, ‘ahh’
exhale
and step back into the darkness
match stick
love
moment gone
not the white man’s
blues
just a cigarette
and
a
dark
room


she hides nothing

it is a gallery of
herself
in a museum off
of
main street
snow dancing
and
smoking
eyes made from
every nation
beautiful
blue and brown
green
her arms extended
high above
her form
feet lifting
from
boots
a smile that is
straight forward
directly
aimed at
you


Eve and baby 1

she looks down
and her belly is getting smaller
her breasts move forward
and baby says

hello

she hopes she can hear
leaning against
the wall

her belly button begins
to wiggle
she feels like half
an egg stretching
out
muscles on a pale landscape
and baby says

i’m sleeping

she hopes child
can feel her
beat

she looks down at
her legs
earth revolves around her
body now
the moon is held
by adam
and at night he sings
while she looks for the
ocean

baby yawns and turns

she hopes child
is swimming for
shoreline……


Eve, we’re on the outside now

your cherries are
not even
apples
your oranges
become the death
of fruit
destroying weather
and the lust
for
coffee
you are my
most fulfilling
desert
the open heat
an oven
i wish to
prepare
meals within

your cherries
are more
than
tasteful
my eyes are
wide and
ready

in age i
will return to
seed
and hope
to grow
with
in your
soil


rearview: The oakhill forest

i am the fallen snow
flattened —
Enter the tree bare woods
along the Oakhills
where you peer
in
waiting slowly
as bus holds
the rush
Between the trees
i am cut into jagged
squares
making me
a jigsaw
your puzzle in
white and grey
wondering about the
cold
and why my world is so
flat
My eyes stare at the
sky
and my body
is yours to
view
Lowlights–
high beams
cutting down the hill
watching the
slow
progression of
opposite traffic
travelling behind
a 60
in an 80
not knowing
it’s me
who’s staring
back, alone
.


corporate

cold piano
the ice rink of
white at center
pounding boards
and
boardrooms
sitting in a coffee shop
grey hoodie
keeping cup
empty for walk
home shaking.
the coliseum
but not
the
coliseum
old days
and forgotten
the organ crying
used for
firewood
the QEW
falling under.
a
movie theatre
hiding
oswald
a movie theatre
for old men
waiting…
the black
keys
tripping
moving like
skates on
ice toward
center
white…
standing
silent
no organ
or
piano
found
nor
mcdermott
or
hats on
heart.


with a blue tinge

in the snow
any human
heart
would understand-
the endless
emptiness of
solitude
makes no sound
turning
all things….white
by
morning
the neighbourhood is
a
sound (proof) room
egg
cartoned in white
screams,
settled on vehicles
and
sidewalks
and before morning
can break
through to save….
the darkness takes an
extra minute
while the first
large
vehicle in
distance
begins to rumble


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