I-94 East Takes You Somewhere

The acai-blueberry sky flowed
through and above the rigid
scope of the great Deliverer,
I-94, or, the yellow brick road;

I am ceaseless on its belt,
carving an unrelenting path
past casket cars,
and roadside stars,

past the truck drivers
making 36 cents a mile,
past the deer that have
been lying there awhile,

towards endless worlds of water,
flying down the dream highway,
the all-american attempt
to drown my tedious torments of today.

But now I peer into my coffee
blacker than all desire,
with eyes in far-off ecstasy,
conjuring an autumn stage

so busy with songs
that are yet to be written,
so busy with characters
that are yet to be broken.

They Get To Keep Our Names Once We're Through

Can you imagine—
infuriated waves of
closet bankers and
closet stalkers and
closet delicates
grabbed by the wrist
and pushed into the
twenty-first century smoke?

This oughta fix
what never was broke.
You can see ‘em now,
coughing up
their privacy
until they choke.

Don’t have to imagine—
the masked money makers,
they've already spoke.

Second Coming of Sweetness

Quite the evening firelight,

I feel my eyes burning black,

Looking into mellow eyes,

Sweeter than 'mallows tonight.

On the podium of soccer goals

on a steamy locust day,

she sounded the horn to retreat

to where slow dreams roll

down to the thundering present,

where wants become musts,

where faith is in the water,

which births smiles luminescent;

This is the Temple of Tenderness,

the monument I hold where angels snuggle,

and everyone holds their neighbor's breath,

waiting for the Second Coming of Sweetness.

Cycle Of The Only Busy Weekend Ever

Out of bed, out of want,
out of toast, out the door,
can you imagine my distaste
at never being able to shower
to get rid of the smell in my hair,
as if chat logs would ever care.

And then tiny seasonal favors
become scorching chores in an
unknown family friend's backyard,
and mosquitoes rave in the sweat
that I haven't tasted all week;
my beautification seems weak.

Then later, under a film of salty water,
the hootenannies and booms of
the spider-web lights seem dull
and lack fire to blaze the country;
but we stand to take off our goggles
and hard hats, and sing our vows,
not even fire enough to burn the cannabis plant,
and then go home, and by candlelight,
recant.

Once Safe Neighborhood is Safe Once More

You see them peeking through the manhole covers,

staking out in the lilac bushes,

licking their lips from the cradles of oak branches.

You know that they're there, there's no doubt,

the night is never to be trusted,

not even for a minute, which reverses years,

if you allow it to, which you might tonight,

because who cares it's some sort of holiday,

at least isn't it always?

So maybe you leave it in the shadow

of your most trusted fortress, they can't see

it let alone take from you what's yours,

so put trust in the whispering street-signs

and kiss the diamonds in the road goodnight.

Yet once your predictable tire oozes in

like an injection to keep your smile warm,

everything disappears at once somewhere

and outside the shadows have gone ultraviolet,

leaving reddish stains from where love was before.

Hey, it was your fault, was it not,

can you stand the embarrassment, guilt, horrifying pain?

Yes,

at least until life creeps back into life,

because if only they had known

how warm your smile just is,

they would have been content with their flowers,

and nothing would ever go missing, at all.

Horizon Identity

My horizon identity

never moves or sleeps,

but lies in the flickering bud

of your opera;

such tranquilizing

generosity.

You don't quite know

just where the sun rises,

or what my window ajar

is trying to whisper,

which only goes to show

That I am more transparent

than even a dying star,

hanging in the flickering sky

of your melody;

Pacific Lullaby

reminiscent.

Blood from the Mouth

Your questions make me laugh
Through the vomit of my discontent—
You've left me with
Nothing else to do

You're not the only one
With questions you'll never forget,
But you don't see me asking them,
Do you?

I don't need your vain advice
To jump on the boat that's sinking—
I've put up with more than

You could ever dream of

And I'm not sure if it's your mind
Or just your body that's thinking—
Either way,
It ought to be true love

I recall when she wore your coat
In the middle of sunny Spring—
I was sure that you two
Were only just kidding

Now show her just how much you care
And buy her a serpent ring—
I think that would be so
Much more fitting

I'm sure that you're warm tonight
In the prison of her embrace—
Can't you see that all I want is
For you to learn?

I feel tempted to warn you
About all the pain you'll embrace,
But you're not even worth
My fake concern

I wish we'd argue more often
For the affection of our friends,
But you know as well as me
I'd be the one winning

And if we keep on arguing
Until this hurricane ends,
I'll make sure that you're
The one left spinning

So if you think forgiveness
Lies ahead at my arm's length,
Her kiss must have already
Driven you insane

An' I know you think forgiveness
Means that I have strength,
But as a free man, let me tell you,
They aren't one in the same

Ways To Be For The Foolish, The Beautiful, The Tired

Be breathless at dawn.

Be stupefied, tripping over the day's cords.

Be turquoise, suck the color from the night.
Be the fantasies that you color in.

Be the monarchy, choose your Kings and Queens.
Be the Jack, don't stay for long.

Be red, don't be a geyser.
Be globs of mercury, rising in the new season.

Be careless with double-magnet hearts.
Be mindful of June bugs on the windshield.

Be green, the way only paper burns.
Be saved from the blizzard of thorns.

Be something, anything apparent.
Be the lighthouse that never fogs.

Be neither what you will nor were,
Be my breath of new,
Be my breath of dawn.

I have not met the High Noon Sun

When the summer breeze
pushes the pacific seas
across the thirsty states,
I feel I am not alone.

If the morning grass dew
ever turns our quilts blue,
while we shiver under the stars,
I would not be so far from home.

But when the starlight storm
fails to deliver this forlorn
boy from the pull of you,
I fear that it's summer,
and summer has
the thickest groan.

In the Loud Country

"Do you think we could catch our breath?" asked the piccolo to the bass,

"I just have this condition, I need a little space;

All the stars, they surround us now – see how they shine,

I'll bet if we stayed like this, one day they'll be mine."

"I didn't know any better," the bass he whispered kind,

"I'm not used to these hands, it's like some other mind;

But this is what I wanted, to be among the lucky few,

Who know what it means to listen to you."

Up high in the balcony, two harmonies did play,

nobody got too excited then, nobody flew away.

Elsewhere in the loud country, there flew a silver dove,

who crossed rivers and canyons at the speed of love.