(fell asleep with book in hand)

                       history & poetry coexist

                       a river across & through                        into & out of

                                                                                                               the same place

poetry begins & history waits

reshaping the old maps

                                                                           with familiar lines

                                                                                        crossing out the new ones

                              in time      as time always does

                                        poetry & history                      collide

                 an accident occurs          unnoticed

                 unaware

people wait on the                      margins

                                                                        & fringes

                                        these dots do not

                                                   connect to make shapes

                                                   but what happens

                         in between                    falls to the wayside

                         leaving

                         the others with

                                      the others

           as history begins

                       poetry waits

                                on the sidelines

              waiting to be written as poetry hides

(finding a dead cat in the morning before work)

it didn't just happen

beside a green

dumpster

it ended

in an instant

before it could really

occur,

nor did it wait around

for the right moment

though maybe

someone

drug it off the road

& put it there to rest

these things don't just

happen

like that,

we don't stumble upon them

& assume that they actually begin

right

there,

we go back & create

a story to make sense

of it

so we feel okay,

but it happened

& it's not

okay

This Town XII

with soft hands

i'll tear this town

apart,

rebuild along

missing lines of communication,

a history found

in debris,

shards of glass,

dirt trails with

cigarette butts leave

one night memories

across scattered landscapes,

someone asks,

i respond with plastic thoughts,

too lazy to carry the right amount of words

The Long Poem: A Precursor

The poem lays alone
on the page
without a name, nameless
in it's uncertainty.

It waits
for the moment, a moment
to return.

It isn't done,
it isn't done.

Towards a Mill: Early Morning

A stiff breeze,

cold against frost,

warm glass,

A drive down

a familiar road

to a familiar place

Snow drifts along

black asphalt beneath

metal and plastic, exits

the rear in a confused

whirl

The road snakes

towards a venomous

point, lined with stakes

and trees

that mark the way

It's still cold,

but the check engine light

has finally gone out, a sputter,

spark to say it's okay

No radio, only silent

conversations with passing

cattle and sleeping birds, the fence

post remind me of a dream

I once had

Not so far off,

the orange haze

and timber smell,

the strange hum of equipment

and blades

still present from

yesterdays shift

It will be another day,

the mouse will deafly look

on and see only sawdust ghost

in plywood shells

This Town XI (Missed Connections)

no real sense of home

or others things

more made to order

a place between

(de)composed bodies

of ink

a location of common

recognition

though always

interrupted or just

not fast enough

it's somewhere

to go and play

the last scene again

and again

listen

in the centre

it will be

the same

parked cars and

swing sets

say “let's go here”

it's there

on the rusty banks

and stiff waters

the bridge outside

of town that just

got going

we realize

the wrong way

This Town X

the PiG

a dead city

rebirth inevitable

questions optional

it's a damned thing

a friend

a water spot

a tree

reach

fold

grow

find the inside

edge

too many

ways through

the centre

a path

too beaten

to be used

it's just a town

my town

and i'll be damned

if you get to it

before i do