whether or not

Every morning

theres’s a woman

pruning bush, or

a bush pruning

woman, whether or not

either is real to me

it’s real to her,

that rose bush

pruned, green grass

now rising wet

in the morning dew

of chimney’s now

smoking, standing

in line at the DMV

with the DUI

unpaid, scratching lotto

old men lifting hats

scratching heads,

wondering like children

where all that hair

goes when it falls out

and if there’ll be

enough water

for the grass, in

the coming July drought,

no matter, still

does the woman prune

as the old me croon—

each mourning.

When Butterflies Were Band-aids

Look me in my heartache

And tell me there’s a cure

When butterflies were band-aids

Where fact and fiction blur

Speak to me in virtues

The one’s I’m pickled for

When only field’s were diamonds

And playgrounds left you sore

Hold me in your sorrow

With hands so soft and pure

When bedtime meant tomorrow

Was absolutely sure

Hear me as the willows

Send shivers down your spine

When fluff was just for pillows

Where wonder’s in the pine

Sense me in my mourning

For those yet to be fed

When fear meant it was pouring

Where Rover was still red

Send prayers if you still got em

Though mine have long since fled

This well’s filled from the bottom

Where sailboats are led

forgive me father for I have sinned

Everything is quiet now

in the middle of the day

where misery has settled down

like bricks on my chest lay

and although I can’t make a sound

my voice has gone astray

I will not settle underground

tomorrow I shall wake

to soft sounds of the morning

like loved ones I have lost

reminders that my mourning

is not in vain but just

and in the shadows of my mind

to where I now so lay

forgive me father for I have sinned

relieve me of this day.

Alvaro my friend

Alvaro
my friend
you left too soon
but what about
today
has me
thinking of you
is it Jimmies guitar
or my faded tattoo
perhaps it’s the night
as I howl at the moon.

Alvaro
my friend
you left too soon
and I never
got the chance
to say
thank-you
for all the nights
you offered your friendship
wanting nothing more
than good conversation.

Alvaro
my friend
you left too soon
but your spirit
it seems
continues to bloom
within my soul
like divine intervention
so my life is yours
solely by extension.

Which brings me
now
to think of you
how if you were here
you’d tell me to
let go this dirge
and create something new
Alvaro
my friend
we’ve got work to do.

it comes when it does

it comes in the night
in the morning while waking

it comes with a fright
sometimes without thinking

turns on like a light
or out somewhere drinking

when it does
it soothes with delight.

it comes after noon
in Ubers and cars

it comes now in June
in twilight and bars

I sit with the moon
and contemplate stars

when it does
I’m nearer than far.

it comes in the mourning
and pages of books

it comes without warning
in passerby who

look quiet and boring
it comes quite aloof

when it does, I’m
up on the roof.

it can not be forced
like lovers divorced

it does what it does
with little remorse

it comes like the wind
a powerful force

when it does
I can’t quite explain.