Cold rain falls in the river, flows down to the sea, gets into the skyline, circles endlessly. Same old rain on the wind, same old pain in my soul.

Wednesday, October 20, 2010


Whsht whsht whsht

The sun kaleidoscopes the maple
into orgasmic explosion
sending life upon death
through the vacant street

in 1968, his son met jimi hendrix
in Da Nang, but
only the music returned
giving voice
to a folded flag

wushhh wuushh wushhh

lost a sister in '73 in the
damnedest wreck clay county
never did see, and

A maple leaf falls
in twist and float
but settles short of
the potter's field
where it's too sad
for red to die

Wushhh wushhh wushhh
sweeps the broom
as Tom's mail truck
rounds the corner
by the stillest of motion

whsht whsht whsht

Mary passed in '87 from the cancer
-brother earl, two years later
when his heart paused
a moment too long
over the snow shovel

cars pass, some wave
some stare
a few understand
and most ignore
in kindness

but it matters not to him

he who
at first light sidles down
the porch steps
clutching his purpose,
the only one he can keep alive

and the leaves fall
and the wind laughs
and the town cries
for greater recognition, but

time means nothing here
having been swallowed whole
by the seasons of his passing
and the cold hand of loneliness

so all day long he sweeps
that same God damned spot
of clean dirt
like an upside down grave
he can't gain entrance to

and the children pass
to school
and back
quiet feared and wild-eyed

while Marge Thompson
sips her coffee while
leaning to her kitchen window
to when the maple was a sapling
and hope sang harmony
over green grass seeding love

whsht whsht whsht