Friday, January 10, 2014

Moving.....once again.

I have moved homes once again.  You can find me @

Or follow on Facebook @


Friday, September 27, 2013

O Hare

Four hour layover
Enough time?
I am a panicky traveler
Yet still leave the terminal to smoke
Cameras are not allowed
Security is
And again
And again

A familiar spot we used to favor
Her usual along with mine
A reminder of yesterday
Of 20 years ago
Of before this moment
They will know how much I miss her

I have found what I misplaced before I left
For everything

People’s mouths can be bothersome
So I watch them move
The young mothers and fathers
Maneuvering strollers much too big for this place
The couples in tow of each other
All teeth-less

His is old, she is pretty
When she tilts her head just right
Her cheekbone seems to extend too far 
Daughter perhaps.  Coworkers for sure
Probably fucking

I see sisters
     Mother and daughter
I see a woman I would talk to
Comforting maybe
I see men, but unless they don’t, they all look the same
Like that guy, with the hat and tie
Too much maybe, but still, that guy

A glass breaks in the background,
     Not  a beat
It seems everyone is alone here
Three hour layover
Enough, time
I am a traveler

Red Hair and Clouds

The red haired woman talks to her heart
As if it really cares that she is weak
     And in need of wheels, and water
She dismisses the truth
     That we will soon see clouds
Life will name them for us, tell us what they mean
My younger father, shit,
He will tell us what they are saying
And we will pretend to understand, as to not disappoint
But it is the clouds that will be disappointed,
Not my father
Red’s wheels will be just fine
As far as us, I think so too.


There is peace in this country
Inside the hills and their rain
There is a gentle nudge of tranquility
Yet a stir
Rolling quietly beneath my skin
Streams slip through each town
Becoming rivers, but never raging
Growing wide and white
And fleeting
Disappearing into timber and blue stone
Finding space to hide beneath the weight of this place
To keep moving quietly
To come out the other side as a trickle
A wet stone face on the side of a highway
Something small, swelling
Into river and white water
But never raging

To Listen

At times, the art itself
Brings me to listen
That's its job
To be poignant
To be intriguing
To disappoint

At times,
I just listen to everything
So damn loud
So damn clear
So beautiful,
I can hardly bear it


Smooth and stoned face
Flush and blooming
Pulsing in the flames
Of the fire between us

She looks different 
Like a cowboy flick
That was once black and white
Worn thin by color

Gutted gully walls
Becoming quiet bosoms
For worn men
And their weary travels

Not so many miles tonight
Just empty spaces
And whiskey jars
It is morning somewhere else

I write poems with the stars
While the day breaks with stories
Laid out like breakfast
On small porch tables

The yolks split open
Like cracked suns
Filling the gorge
With a river of untold tales

Washing away the grime
The haze of rusty water
Washing away the leftover ashes
From the fire between us

October Clocks

The voices wear thin
Your mouth, saying yes
Says everything

Hard, between the miles between the
Us that was lost between the years
And times
I never knew to miss

I missed them today, and now, then
I missed the moment
I missed
When we began not to

When we said hello and it was October
When it was bitter cold
We kissed
And didn't let go

It was bitter cold then
And I didn't feel a thing
Just everything
I couldn't let go

And we were the same there
Solid, feet in concrete
Into everything
But nothing, then

Time turns tables for sure
And we change hands
Holding the same cards
That we should have let go

It is then now and again
That same cold October
We kiss
And it is everything

There is nothing between us
Just time trapped in clocks
Counting sleeps
Till there are no more

Timing is nothing
And the moon, everything
A concrete kiss
As to not let go