Moving.....once again.

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

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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

Again

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

Time

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.

Weeks

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

Ash

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

Mine

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