Tuesday, March 10, 2015


Where nothing happens to anyone
is a heaven of cracks to fall between
or rise up to

if you're in bed
staring at the ceiling
between bouts of sleep
that grind like engine gears

and the replays of the last word
you didn't speak with 
the clerk who looked at you
like a generic bad example
or the smug guy in 
clothes more expensive
than a year's worth of 
take out 
just as the elevator closed
and you were late again
in a building 
towering over high and mighty
over everything you didn't own,

or the car alarm blares
and your coffee is gone,
the men's room is out 
of order
when everyone has to go this time,

It doesn't matter, it will always
be a door that closes
while your speaking
or someone who
watches you like
the price of gasoline,

It's a heaven of cracks that might be
a passage between cragged mountain  ranges
to an Eden where all the totems work,
like sealed water jars
on front lawns
that keep the dogs at bay,
scarecrows in fields of dead corn,
candles to light in church for only a Silver Dollar,
guns with no bullet chambers,
cops and gang bangers doing crosswords,
linen that doesn't the history 
of your lost loves 
who found better hobbies
and funnier men to experiment with,

another door closing,
a neighbor going to work,

can't escape that,
the cell phone 
buzzes and dances on the night table
with a ring full of keys,
it's work wondering where I am

can't escape that either.