the science

the science was a whisper 
held against it
up against the
wall the
kiss

kiss the smoking girl

you think faster than you write and can your memory keep (you) up, when the days fall off like calendar paper painted numerics in a spotted corner where a pay phone once connected the disconnected? relegate your dreams to a political sideshow. the overthrow of nickels by dimes and half dollars in a strip club awaits. she leaves you drunk and singing. your oldsmobile won’t start up in the cold. you don’t care. shove your hands in your overcoat and walk off. watch your breath. smells like midwest. something different the day has for you. bread factory. maybe a motel room. cartoons. a new friend as tore up as you are. laughing against a socieconomic slider. anything but a tow truck and another bill to sign. buy a pint of whisky. postpone the inevitable. kiss the smoking girl.

the lost

a half-sunken bridge spanned a boggy marsh and every other year or so someone from the adjacent towns there was lost, never to be found. boundary lines were redrawn which made the bog a sorta no man’s land and no one had to claim the dead upon their land. children were outlawed from crossing the bridge and when they grew into teenagers the bog became a common hideaway where adults rarely looked. were they to be sought out, they would not be found. for those who wished to be left alone would never be seen again. only the bog and the bridge, and the sky kept the secrets.

typewriter.13

Day old adherents

keep pressing and pressing
free press makes a difference
but truth falls again
to the floor

nothing sticks
in a day. a month
not even a year

your expressions are painted
to resemble the real
the artwork’s on sale again
imitating a steal

unless you step out of your comfort
and into your twilight zone you
cannot be credible and
that’s how i feel

find out what you care most about
what you believe in
and share

at the end of every night
lie down with your work
to wake up with it

the cards are the same
they get dealt and
we deal

we suffer. we feel
that’s how real gets to real

make friends with your fear
have tea with anxiety
have courage to say what you believe

let your island of opinions
into the weave