*20/104: Untitled*

I shoulder the thought of transparency
but shudder with fresh air knowing
I am a well of personal quiets
no one will ever know.

19/104: I Turn on the Radio

It's 2 am and I'm falling in love
with everything I hear.

Maybe it's the exhaustion, but I'm
waiting for Bruce Springsteen
to push me against the wall
and show me Americana
with his own hands.

18/104: haiku?

four black boys lying
on the porch, laughing, shirtless,
soaking up summer.

17/104: Love poem

I work hard for our little family - my feet ache
like nothing else.
My tarsals are spreading to help my body maintain.
Someone told me once
that maybe my body is in a constant fight or flight state.
He's right.
That's life, or mine anyways.

So, this morning before the moon gave way,
I woke up and made you
hot salt water to gargle because you're sick.

You gagged. I heard you,
but you did it anyways.

16/104: "Them streets are getting wider"

Get out that jaw harp and teach the night about grief.
Let it echo down the streets;
show the neighbors it's possible to have integrity,
even if we can't stand up straight.

I don't know what it's like to dig for scraps
or beg for beer or to carry packs full of burdens alone,
but I do have my own
and I know other pains.

So, sing it again, about the streets and let
loose that intoxicating harmonica.

15/104: Resisting the Urge

The best poets say, basically, just don't do it.
Do not break apart your sternum and squeeze the heart out.
Do not pinpoint the seven million reasons why.
Do not think of summer nights,
sweaty and raw, or how autumn is for lovers.
Just, maybe, stay away from love poems all together.

Which, let's face it, is good for one who writes with clumsy metaphors.
(concrete blocks take my words to the bottom of the river,
love isn't down there).

So, I will not attempt a love poem.
I won't...maybe I will.

Maybe I'll just write a few words -
maybe tomorrow.

*14/104: Untitled and Full of Night*

It's quiet around here, my heart is beating slowly
and melodically.
Life is slow and methodic.
This beauty is slow, too.
Everything around me is heavy, a sad piano - I walk with the same feet
but with difficulty.
I point to the sky and see the harmonica sized sparrows
flitting around,
unfazed by this sadness.

The blues are a sense of relief, but still too bright
to help.

The greens give me life, but life is sometimes
not enough.

I feel my heart - she's still there,
and I,
I am still here.

Let me forget.

*13/104: On regaining balance also known as, Not All Things are Autobiographical, but Some Are (from the nah series)*

Well, one person will know
the pains of a seriously vulnerable week
tucked deep into the palms of summer.

(My hair was perfect, and my skin
was happy)

But that soul will soon forget the smell of books and sweaty palms
and the feel of breaking through circumstances.

And then, after the forgetting,
as in the beginning,
it will be me.

I will wear that shirt again
I will walk the steps again
I will be fine,
but my old eyes,
they're getting older and
every
single
day
I am less and less desirable.

*12.5/104: New Mexico Remix (nah series)*

**DISCLAIMER** Very similar feel to New Mexico. I just had some left over lines that needed to go somewhere - so, I made a remix.

I'll be there and you'll be there,
lying flat, on our backs,
with dust under our finger nails;
becoming whole.
In between the mountains,
counting your freckles with my eyes closed,
we will only exist to each other.

12/104: For MM, concerning daisies and guns

I wonder about you sometimes...
if your hair was the color of sand
when you toted around that gun.
and if you named your weapon
and if eight years was too many years
in the military,
especially if peace was your cape.

Did you hear the ole' whistle blow
before
or
after
the compromise?

And when I hear you talk about the
lack of a sustainable economy in parts of Africa
or when you followed the Dead down your own Miracle Alley -

then, I know.

*11/104: "'I like your style'" (from the nah series)*

Sometimes on Mondays
you chop celery so fine
you can't even see it.
Then, you put it in chicken salad.
You parade it around and
eat it; then you've done it.

Other times on Mondays,
you go to a bar
and you drink at least
two beers too many.
Then, you walk around in the rain
and look at churches down town.

*10/104: Found Poem (from the nah series): million things*

a million things to think about
but i can only think of one thing
a million different ways...
you.

*09/104: New Mexico* (from the 'nah' series)

let me move there.
i'll build up our house with
ancient red dirt.
once, we might lay outside
and let the dust know us.
we'll close our eyes;
i'll braid my hair for miles
and miles.
you might touch it and
say, "the sun shines for you"
and i may count your freckles.
i might say "your skin is
terrain, maybe holy."
we could put our hands
deep into the water;
and should we dip our
cup into the sky
and drink it until
we flip inside out?
probably.

let me move there.
i'll stand up tall
with a sweet breeze
bringing earth to my nose.
once, we might have had a life
that wasn't mountains and leather
and open-like-soul skies.
i don't remember that
or the sharp pangs,
do you?
i might say, "let's not"
and smile.
you might agree.
we'll stay on the prairie
perpetually hunting with our
sunset bows and arrows.
we'll bleed there
and create secrets,
alone from familiarity.
should we walk with our
own feet to New Mexico?
probably.

*08/104: Sixteen and counting (from the 'nah' series)*

I was standing in the middle
each wall morphing into the next
in a sharp incline towards night.

Rain was in my eyes
and on my shoes.

The sky pressed down on my shoulders
as I stood in the courtyard

breathing; steady as the rain.