Friday, October 17, 2014

Sketches - 33. (October 4th, 2014)

33.

The chill has arrived, early Oct.
fall chill.  When I feel the cool
wind caressing my face, I reflect
on my coffee cart job in Denver
Colorado, 1995 positioned on the corner
of 17th and Blake across the
street from the RTD Public transit
station, main hub, and the steamed
milk (hiss) and espresso scent
up to my nostrils as I would
sit waiting for passing customers
reading Edgar Alan Poe, my guts
in the tense knot of low income,
barely making it.

Nobody was on line then and
scarcely anyone had a cell
phone.  My favorite mornings
were those quiet cloudy
ones, bright orange red heaps
of leaves tickling the wide Blake Street
sidewalk in tumble motion
and gust hiss.  

Now, at 44 years old it’s Nebraska’s
barest vines creeping up trees
and walls - trembling net
interwoven through chain link
spaces of endless link fences
like mechanized robot chirps
when tossed around or shaken
up by fingers thrust through and
curled up - ball of fist.

The hell dream and the nightmare.
Soft beginning of Oct., 
forty-four Octobers
that I've witnessed and slipped through
white knuckled skin of teeth.

(October 4th, 2014)
________________


Tuesday, October 14, 2014

Sketches - 32 (October 4th, 2014)

32.

Dead leaves scattered on the
sidewalk in front of Loveland
Elementary, Omaha Nebraska
Westside School, parked here
to pick up Zoey, then zip over
to the middle school to pick up
Max.  A nondescript man
in worn denim-blue shorts
and a blue bill cap is
talking to someone parked here
picking up their own kids.  The trees
all around are motionless and the
air is hot.  More car pull in
like trout sniffing around a
stream after the seasonal
voyage is over.  Mercedes
4-wheel drive, Buicks, BMW’s,
flippant old brown mini-vans
and this time of year the 3:21 PM
sun is already on a gradual
southern descent dipping earlier
into the west, wrapping the town
up in a chalky dirt glow as the
trees are rusty and vague with
pre-fall colors before the
brilliant end-of-year Autumn.

Picking up kids is all part
of the schedule, the busy
point blank firing squad shooting
down days as I sit here with
thoughts about my wife’s naked body
and I’m certain that on days
like this, given the chance, we’d
simply pick up the kids and
drive away into forever.

A whole noisy population of
children pour out of the school.
Cars gently idle, hum,
           vibrate.

All this adult sex started the kids, started
up the schools, the bills, the governments
foot up our collective ass.  However, my
kids are mine to protect from all that
                       horseshit
as the rest of it belongs to God and what
ever will is stolen away from us, our souls
tumbling like dry leaves in the dominant
                  Will of the unseen.


(October 4th, 2014)
____________

Wednesday, October 1, 2014

Sketches - 31 (September 28th, 2014)

31.

Time passes, blink of eye night
to dark morning - dawn appears
scant by 6:30 AM as city
gets up in huff-puff traffic
and everyone everywhere seemingly
up and going but before this,
               before alarms chime
               out and limbs move
               from motionless sleep
               and vacuous dreams,
                 before feet hit the floor -

there is the yawn of distant interstate
motion, those souls up and
around as the whole world sleeps,
constant foot-on-gas and
wearisome turn of radio
stations, a thousand memories
of metallic fast food counters
in godforsaken nowhere
                      America.

(September 28th, 2014)

_________________________

Tuesday, September 30, 2014

Sketches - 30 (September 16th, 2014)

30.

The skin of my fingers and bristled
hairs on neck-back  -
          brutal Douglas county
          courthouse

          everyone in stultified
          lines to the judgement.

Apologetic attorneys.
Blanket legal forms and chips-in-paint
courthouse high ceiling.  

I sometimes wonder how anyone
in their right mind took the trouble
to draw up all these laws enforced
by people employed to papers in rooms
at the top of granite steps.  

Blossom gloom of anger cells
and a stale heavy creep in the lower
guts, nothing grey colored
standing under the topless
half dressed scales of justice
woman, blindfolded, ready
to go like all socialized rapes
under Midwest full moons in all nude
juicer bars and meth-head dying
                deaths.

You can go off into the night and never
come back, never be seen or
heard from again.
If you go far enough into the hungry
flat void of Nebraska, no
one will be around to hear
the shotgun blast.  Small towns
dry up like splintered leaves
and memories have
a voice when the wind whispers
through the dry husks
              of fall.

(September 16th, 2014)

Monday, September 29, 2014

Sketches - 29 (September 15th, 2014)

29.

Full on dark-chilled September
                night.
My toddlers wobble across the
living room floor.  
Always a curious trembled
joy when my youngest Jesse is
set free from
the confining play pen.

Izzy chases a blue
        balloon -
    Lowen miraculously
      plays a video game
      at the age of 3 and
                           3 months
      and Jesse grabs   
      an empty cup, covets
      it with each proud
      wobble step of his tiny
                           feet
                           to and from.

I’m getting older every day.  I've resigned
myself to it  I allowed myself
to be fully baptized by the idea of time
and all its furious currents.

Last Sunday I saw
a small group of grey dung
beetles waiting on the
stone wall of the outdoor
steps to the right of the
garage, about 9 of them
gathered there still and pepper-grey
with movements that almost
looked strategic, thought out -
         I was careful not to
         step on them on the
         way to the back door -
         somehow I was repulsed
at the sight -
          imagined my whole body
           covered in these ancient
           mechanical moving
           beetle bugs, legs blurred
           and loathsome crawl.

The earth opens up cold this
fall, the early morning subdues the crickets
and cicadas.  The wiretap and
dot bleeps of a million shaded
corners and valleys that formed the
insect wave antenna is a wave receding -
                        pulling back

and I’m getting older every day.
Nothing to be done about it.  

(September 15th, 2014)
____________