Thursday, January 22, 2015

road west


but it could have been Texas
it would have been
1954 or five
the Buick a ’53

all pea green and blinding chrome
somehow even
in this black and white photo
hood and fenders

hot as a skillet
shadows fried to nubs
all four windows
rolled down your tight

white tee or thin cotton camp
shirt comatose on the backseat
khaki pants and narrow belt
newly acquainted with the innocent

spread of your belly
goddamn two tone shoes
that leave me no choice
but to fix you

on Route 66 heading west
stopping for an orange Nehi maybe
take a long satisfying leak against
a backdrop of oil wells

wearing the expression
of a man in flight
a well-worn hand-me-down
I shed free along the verge. 

Monday, January 19, 2015

Visiting hours


they flock around you humming
something tuneless at first
long wave whale-song rife with clicks

seeding yawning passages of silence
just this side of utter and complete
a sermon on the verge of ending

every moment of every hour
jolting me awake with nasal whoops
every time I nod off bathed

in blue light eyes 
locking on the relentless
scroll of their ragged march.   

Monday, January 12, 2015

Wool That Wears

Pendleton Shirts

Wool that never wears out 
Plaids welcome in any circle
Pockets shingled with flaps and tails
That stay tucked no matter what
Yours smelling of lanoline
Mixed with gasoline
Sweat broken unloading
Imperial’s in Wheeling
Dried to salt scrim by Akron
Heroic buttons
Holding back
The minor planet of your belly
Satin labels stitched  
Into the elliptical orbits of collars
Shirts found
Sagging on hangers
At the end of the day
Exhausted from their work
Concealing the contours
Of a hounding emptiness.