Daily Archives: June 12, 2018

Under The Red, White, And Blue

Lying awake, the night sky 
on your mind,
a violet shelf of trophies 
you will never quite grasp.

Working dark seams 
until they give up scant fuel;
playing hard games
until the least prize falls 
into your hands.

You say
hey, it’s a living.
You say that
as often as you can.

Lying awake under
a dream sky you thought was 
just beyond your fingertips.
They told you that
so many times
that more than once
you thought
you’d brushed against it
more than once.

It felt like either heaven
or cobwebs. Hard
to say at the time,

but now you know.

Lying there
under that sky
you can’t reach
that will never redden for dawn 
or turn white for full day
and the stars you longed for
are like needles in your eyes
and the deep blue looks like 
shrouds and you know
none of it 
was ever really for you.


Map In The Tar

I burst through a door
and climb stairs to
a friend’s apartment.

Did I leave my cell phone here,
I ask? You’ve never been here
before, they respond. And I realize
they’re right.

So I go back down the stairs and
out the door and start running,
face aimed down, scoping
for the phone along a route
I may not have run at all
for two miles back to my house,

till I realize there’s a phone
on my hip in a clip, nothing 
I recall, and this is not my phone.
No idea who it belongs to. No idea
who these people in the contact list are.

I keep running back to my house
hoping it’s still my house. Along the way
I stare at the ground, wondering why
I’m in such good shape that I can run
like this, memorizing the moonlit
asphalt as if I were going to be
tested on the location of each speck
of sparkle when I’m finally at rest.

I make it home, hit the doorbell
as I have no keys with me, scramble
to the front window to scream 
my partner’s name, relieved 
to recognize the reflected face
as my own, glad that she seems
relieved to see me, to hold me
as I go through the front door.

I am typing this on my cell phone
which was where I left it by the bed side.
I am typing this on my cell phone
as I try to get up from bed
on my stone heavy legs, with my lungs
torn and wet from something.

This may have all been 
a dream, it all may have been a 
projection, a mistake
in my perception,

but I bet I could be blindfolded
and brought 
to any spot on the route right now
and I think I could tell you,
once the blindfold came off,

where I was and 
what I was thinking
at the time I bent to look there,

how far I’d come
and how far was left to go,

and all of that would come rushing forth from me
the second I saw the map

of mica in the black tar.