Monday, October 24, 2011

pulling no punches (for Kurt)

it was his habit to play his guitar as he drew his bath
he would lift the crystal handle of the valve and run his right hand down the faucet
under the water to feel the cold flush of october's icy wind
in that fleeting moment before the hot water heater had time
to force its angry cargo into the tub

it was his only means of relaxing, and he used it too rarely
if his hair was matted and oily Karen would eye him warily
and the children would always remember to play in another room
never asking where they'd left their shoes

in the bath he was a boy again
it was here he chuckled over his children's scattered bath toys
longed for ice cream and resolved to teach his son to dribble a basketball

the first time he struck one of them in anger was in a dream
too vivid to be real and too disturbing to be anything but an ill omen
he woke thinking of his father and trying to remember his face

no one saw it coming
least of all Will
sitting in his bath
dreaming of sunshine
and the open road

Monday, October 10, 2011

dead bones

my story did not get in
so
back tomorrow to regular programming

Friday, October 7, 2011

sunday my funday vol. 2

wow waiting on tenter, erm
never mind,
says i

wild anticipation
pained suspense

i must ask
dear eater blue
what sweetness've we rot
under our rare moon
toasters warm asleep under sacred ground
a spirit sits atop a mound of new black soil
yet unseen

inside blue midnight's spinning globe
our catacomb awaits