HE WAS HOME

the language of keys in the lock,   an abrupt shutting signaling the adult force   he opens a cabinet, the refrigerator mumbles a few words   shuts the cellar door then moves with a slow steady gait, heavy and sure   hands sliding over the walls by habit   his shadow on the hallway … More HE WAS HOME

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BREATHING OUT

the house was a fire of voices   a child on the front porch sang a song about water and boats   floor boards language inner travel from room to room   burnt evening skies brushed the house with setting shadows as night breathes out a deep sigh of quiet

MADISON AVENUE 1959

eyes with work a wall clock without mercy typewriter language paper thick with ink corner offices glass doors with names water tank and paper cups fluorescent lights no one notices the hum high heels hair spray jackets and ties felt hats everyone smokes see you tomorrow

TO THE END

before counted time there was death where dreams cease like a broken branch nevermore to leaf   the moon and stars care not   the sun passes over the clouds and winds prevail while the spirit crosses a river or into a light   those remaining shed tears washing out their souls remembering the last … More TO THE END

WELCOME BACK

There’s a silhouette a side shadow   brave with image soulful and longstanding   motion expressed with well spoken words   hat tipped blocking the sun providing shade for eyes of reason   at the edge of a clear stream he stands expecting great things from a cast into swift waters   ripples over rocks … More WELCOME BACK

LOST ROADS

It’s a twisting of hands, a thirst to indulge the spirit of the getaway, the radical, unradical of wish and desire; air through a chrome grill chews hungrily the dark of night on tendrils of unlighted roads.   The tires roll out a language of hate and speed; the normal is scrapped for expression. Roads … More LOST ROADS

EACH CORNER

There was a glass reflection of sky and overhanging branches as we passaged down river, slipping through calm water; an excursion through nature’s lyrics. Each wide corner revealed another portrait in perfect color; small gatherings of birds swept silently above. There was a balance.  A quiet tempest of greatness.  An undercurrent of power not seen. … More EACH CORNER

OPEN WALK

From the third story window, traffic below releases a voice. The aroma of warm asphalt, oil and exhaust rises into the space between tired buildings.  People imitate the ants below their feet; swerving to avoid contact. Passing anger remains concealed within; learned by everyone to survive.  Eyes gaze from open windows, scanning the streets and … More OPEN WALK

MENDING THREAD

Broken letters. The unfashioning of words scattered on the floor; thoughts rejected, names forgotten.   Jumbled letters; a game without love.  Static angles breaking out of paragraphs, swept into piles, filling buckets, thrown to the wind where letters from lost words find new air, breathing life from the incorrect.