searching for the one eyed jesus.

he said he wanted curtains
to live where the light seeped through
but it was already morning against bare window pane
along with the bareness of her skin exposed
she could no longer count the lines that defined her palms
her will lay on a towel
curled beneath the bed
and what if she could complain
tell the sky
and weep like rain
consideration is always considered
but couldn’t the fall free an explanation
never mind the heat of conversation
desert lines up to meet the water
he lined up to meet the words
un-curtained from the threat
his touch cant describe
the neck line
and this is what he gave her
light and morning and skin
and this is all he would give her
she wouldn’t ask for more
couldn’t
because breaking down the moment
that should be taken back
lived too far down the road in front of her
and speaking truth seeped between the night and the day
and breathed in neither
she adjusted herself to trust in occurrence
as he sat
between silence
and agitation gone unseen
mistaking anothers heart beat
for the rhythm of his own
im telling you now
you missed your one eyed jesus

november second.

im reaching towards the past for you
trying to read between lines that hold you pivitol
i asked you how you lived
your life before you knew me
although i didn’t care to know of time and space and listless seasons
the way they know and cling to history
not with you
not that way
because now is something different then before
and this i’ll say with confidence
this is how i’ll ask you
to knot the world
tie the strings of lovers to the anchor of a boat you’ve already sailed out to sea
and if i was your lady
would you be my mister
in the sailors water of ocean blue
spread like honey between wet and board and you
lay in curls of each other
folds of sweat and scruff and smell
the coffee didn’t hold the heat
the morning effected the light
and then you were going
i know all about it
straighten out the right and wrong
but not right now
in the silence of lips and lust and lacked love
you wanted to drive up the 80 where the borders reach the chaos
in quite reasoning
i’ll recollect all the hours
minutes given minute detail in the corners of my mind
to give three days more length
of time spent with you
and how do I live the day towards all the other days
be here in a moment you say
drink your orange juice
finish your breakfast
get up and make the bed
call your father to talk about your mother
and its here that you have become the hollow of anticipation
stored in my chest cavity
burrowed into my life

hollow.

hollow out this space of use
take away the objects of display
the piano feels empty
white notes to distinguish black
but nothing squeezes between flats and sharps
so vivid memories fit into childhood recollections
hollow out your adolescence
something began there
ruptured and subtracted
to fit into a form
hollowing out the divide that created you different
a little odd and totally absurd at times
but all you
all soul
hollow out your days that turn slated
jaded and worn
ragged and ruff
they turn you out into the coldness
the hollow of your life
you were never made half whole
all of you becoming
constantly deserving

port clinton.

you call me
from the insides of port clinton
locked down
between walls
barred steel
wired webs
voice quivered
they do this to break you
low
remind you of where your two feet stand
and the perimeter they will solely walk
their days to
but these are not
their days
give them nothing
they will never carry you circular motion
one foot in-front of
the next
time goes by
in four year intervals
last time I saw you
me
driving cross country
thru cleveland
don’t go back there
when they let you out
don’t go back there
people die in the homes they grew up in
we ‘grew up’
but growing old is not the same
you and me
we'll never die
there
in those homes
i woulnt let us dissolve
like that
burnt ash
we spent our days
groom creek
cabin style
wood burning stove
at war with freezing air
outside
heading north on montezuma
towards sundance place
drink our fill of beefeaters and
tonic
that was life
in a moment
you don’t know how to tell me
on this collection call
what worlds your two feet walked
we sit on telephone wires
a man echoing in
silhouettes of time
to let me know
where exactly you are
i don’t trust your story
but i trust you