PRIVATE

A flume, shone in our faces; a flume,

watched by empty silhouettes—

distant thunder, creaky wooden floors.

All men are sinners, be afraid of the cold.

All men are sinners, be afraid of the flood.

(October 25, 2011)

TAKE IT ALL AWAY

We’re different people, we’re not the same wispy cobwebs.

We took a ride in an old convertible once—

after me comes the doorway.

We’re not the dirt some bridges won’t burn.

Though I waited, we’re different.

I take pictures, they inherit your blood—

we’re not the pretty dresses you wear.

We’re different people, we’re not the same.

(October 22, 2011)

WASTED AND WEARY

I look to the trees—

find the wind and the poison bite and the way home;

your faith in the forgotten torch.

I look to the rain—

you to the rocks and the light;

we are just passing ghosts, all that leads to your soul, you,

alone in shreds, alone in the poison bite,

and your door I must keep.

I look to the trees—

hold the path that leads to your soul;

hold the path of our passing ghosts, all that leads to me.

I look to the rain—

seeing things that lead to me, I carried the lanterns high,

working so hard for our survival, alone in the rain;

our survival, alone with the forgotten torch.

I look to the trees—

your faith in the poison bite, I follow the forgotten torch;

I follow the rain alone in the poison bite.

(October 18, 2011)

THE RIVER STARTS TO RUN

No one ever leaned eyes upon my harbor lights.

No one ever leaned on my best survivors in the night.

This sense of isolation inspires you—

all the dirt, all the same.

Wretched desert takes its form, gluey feathers on a million years.

She is smiling and the photo is smiling, the river starts to run.

She is rediscovered in the night, rediscovered in the darkness,

hoping someone might come near.

No one ever leaned eyes upon my harbor lights.

No one ever leaned on my best survivors in the night.

(September 30, 2011)