Monday, September 28, 2009

This Town XII

with soft hands
i'll tear this town

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

Thursday, September 24, 2009

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.

Monday, September 7, 2009

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

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