To be a teenage boy
in a small town,
Early summer warm fades with the sun.
A front porch
in a small town…
and then she walks by on the sidewalk below.
a whiff of perfume as she passes
and a dream…
I made it to another Sunday night.
Panging for 1 more Go-A-Round
The Bunny can’t drive
At least for awhile.
Chosen driver, I sit outside the Meeting
They assemble each in the moment, forgiving of the past, jonesin’ for a future.
The Meeting is about to begin. Funny I realized they remain strangers to each other at the Meeting, but remember inside with the grinning devil buried deep in a crevice of just how it felt.
And with every past loss, the devil’s grin grews. With every numbing swallow or puncture needle stab, more lost like chips on a sculptor’s floor, littered shards of stone marble until only a devil smile is left to reveal
and they face a real choice.
Live in pain release and freedom and die or head to the silence and the Moment of the meeting.
Addicts are so in touch.
Narcissistic, no thought of bugs (unless they were junkies)
Self-possessed, trying to calm and make sense of senseless.
But they still glow flashed electric.
Sparking hot flash fire then cold ash
Repeat until dead.
Some nervously gather in groups
Sucking just a bit deeper’
just a tinge of panic.
Remembering the time between sips,
Like it mattered, cursing inside
At promises broken to love and lovers
And suck just a bit deeper.
And at the invisible tick..(pause…wait) tock, it is time to head in for the good seat
Hurry up to get the good seat.
Where they watch and pretend with masked sheepish face
to be called to share what they had practiced between sips.
As lovers left them to the moment.
And then like the quiet brought by an ocean of booze or a mountain of pills or Coke’s snow
sparkle, they are gone.
One late-comer sucks a cloud of vap with a smile. One comes to talk on a phone that never
rung to be joined by another, in bond
Waiting to get back to the sip or the sniff or to reach out waiting to share.
Another spry and clean goes into the Meeting door and before I can look up…she leaves.
She touched the coffin of the saint, she made a noise of one uncomfortable from sitting till a hundred sheepish faces turned
And she left. Church is over another day. Obligation of the few minutes spent with those
trying to kill the screams inside complete.
She leaves and returns to her madness.
The Meeting is over and post-mingle post-nerves hover outside metal doors.
Outside the Meeting, air returns to birds nervous and cars rushing past, late and rushing
And the silence. Inside the Meeting they are quiet. Walls tire and sigh and rinse clean the
judgements of others.
The unknown released from the moment and the Meeting, pause
They pray to take back time lost.
They pray to get back to feeling a tree and a breeze and saying clearly, Hello.
And the door opens and again and again and the birds sit silent.
New nervous ones have started to gather.
And they smoke shakey and wait their turn in the Meeting.
Street Fair in Spring
Cool morning start and comfortable shoes
Going to the Street fair.
Early morning Vendors cool buzz chat
Making rounds at the Street Fair.
Excited pockets, nervously empty ready
For ever, come to the Street Fair.
Sunglasses glisten Hollywood signs
Potters Pots thrown out back in a 1000 barns
Rainbow buckets of tie-dye hang on chrome metal racks
Sticky-buns, baked ready shiny sweet
Ready wait for the Street Fair.
Early morning Strollers pick at
Handpainted notepad, carved wooden duck rolling and
Sunglasses sunglasses sunglasses shield a million eyes
and rocks and stones and jewels shine hung on silver chains
Carved by unknown hand
Its handy, its magnetic
Makes it easy
Keeps on shining washable, You like?
Eyes question waiting for flash of green
And a bit of a chew
Of caramels from France and a dream of a place
Sets the People pace
to the Street Fair.
Air warms and rolling padding feet as slap pace quickens, chat shortens
Repeat Incantations of can I help you can I help you
I only have one, this one, this is the best
Smiles migrate from behind boothtable where Vendors sat, stoic
waiting all morning behind grande’ lattes and ready wares
To the chitter chatter, baby holding, pick up put down, pick up put down
Point and point and point and
ANGELA, OVER HERE. They got it here Angela.
And the smiles migrate to people that
came to the Street Fair.
Until a point when the sun is too high
until a pang of hunger not satisfied
By street taco, thai stick lava cone lemonade pizza slice corn dog
teriyaki and a side of curly fries.
And now those that came late aren’t smiling
For baby child fidgets for cool place to put tiny cool head to sleep.
Sun high overhead, no cool shadows, gone for now
At the Street Fair.
Those that smile become those that wander back to
Hot sun cars and crowd trolleys, cool buses or
walk walk walk ,hot foot achers burn
tied to the end of aching muscle legs.
From behind now cool 3rd latte, a vendor smiles,
rolling gently left over picked over in cool crinkly brown wrappers,
put away for another late comer
Or the next Street Fair.
Some curse, pulling down floating resin bulgy eye angels, sparkly things shiny
little dog, cat everything
Bright color brochure announced INVISIBLE SCREEN sprinkler solar insurance
Vote for Me Good for you
Taken from dark forest,
wasted now flutter rain down on grey hot asphalt.
Thinning now no talk money counted,
It all ends at 5
moving slow, heading home.
It ends at the Street Fair.
To be sad in Paradise
To cry in Paradise
To listen to songs outside your window
running outside, to find the melodies gone,
Flown away is beyond me.
You are there in silence. With only an empty self.
Everyday is giggle and candied jells
Sweet fruit and blue sky
Clearblue to heaven
And below water laughs
And the romance of desert breeze holds you gentle,
Pushed away as if foul.
Yet you sit in darkness, embracing the darkness
Waiting for mutants
Attracting darkness and the mutants to find you
You do not love yourself and the mutants will find you
Cloaked in shawls of darkness, they paw you.
And your heart goes dark
And can not feed the soul
Are you deaf to air whispers of love floating ‘round you?
You run to the window and the melody flies away.
You hold sad like crystal, delicate and savory
Pushing away the blue for the blues,
Feeling scorching heat from the sun
And not warmth.
You run to Fantasy Land
You are there in silence.
Finding a spiteful dragon’s dank cavern
And you will still be there
You will never see the love, you will never feel the blue of the sky
and hear the undaunted warble song of a bird outside your window
until you learn to love yourself. You are a Goddess, blessed by the
Muse with the eye and the hand that captures soul but without the love,
you will remain wrapped in a shawl that offers no comfort but weights
heavy on your shoulders