Thursday, October 30, 2014

Sketches - 39 (October 21rst, 2014)

39.

Not a breeze to stir
the autumn leaves.

Like altars and
communion tables -
           scarcely used, holy,
           yet completely motionless.

(October 21rst, 2014)

____________

Wednesday, October 29, 2014

Sketches - 38 (October 14th, 2014)

38.

The bark of an old tree
is a hard ragged layer of skin,
a haunted epidermis
      that houses multitudes
      of creeping seemingly
      pointless insects.

The older I get, the less I 
require a reason
              for things.

Desire itself has no
epidermis to speak of
and houses nothing yet
remains the same as it
ever was in that the
long expected goal is
never exactly what
       was expected.

(October 14th, 2014)

___________

Tuesday, October 28, 2014

Sketches - 37 (October 14th, 2014)

37.

Wind pushes at the walls and
eves of the old timed home
in Omaha’s west side neighborhood
where I work.  

I do home care - take blood
pressures, document weight
fluctuations and when or  
whatever comes knocking, do
everything in my power to
make the client I have
as comfortable as possible.

When the wind blows it tosses
the trees around and their
shadows strobe and flit-filter
the sunlight onto the floor
of the room.  My client has
outlived his friends, outlived
the idea of what everyone
thought America should be -
          outlived the depression,
          the wars and all the
          stale prosperous years.
and yet for all that is one
of the happiest grittiest
souls I've ever known.

I sense the drought coming -
          not too far off now
and the weight of all those
memories of that abysmal drive
pushing on purposeless
between Denver/Omaha, feeling
its shadow coming in
from the western expanse of
deserts and odd shaped zig
zag coast lines.  Its started its
attack and wages its sentences
in that twisting lower lurch
certainty that there’s really
nothing out there and being
startled when that nothing knocks at the
             freshly painted door
             as tacky and gloom-new
             as time itself.

(October 14th, 2014)
_____________

Friday, October 24, 2014

Sketches - 36 (October 14th, 2014)

36.

Around 8 PM the sun
is completely gone.

Full literal toss about
             fall season.

Old scratchy blues recording
as ancient as
any Egyptian hieroglyph.

Does time matter?

A thousand years or
a hundred years ago -
none of us were racing
through the scarcely
paved roads or
cobbled/dirt sewage
streets anyway.

Homemade runzas are
baking in the oven - thinking
of the gold spectacles of
Kafka’s Amerika, the
intrapersonals, age of industry
teaching new instincts, new
pass times, the passing
bureaucracy of conversations
scarcely recorded

and just how much of
it goes down that
proverbial drain completely
            lost.

No light in a grave or when the
          sun passes down
          in the west -
          night encloses us,
          everything folds
                      over.

(October 14th, 2014)

________________

Thursday, October 23, 2014

Sketches - 35 (October 5th, 2014)

35.

Two AM in the dark morning
and once out back for
a smoke of my pipe,
heard the not-too-distant
yell of some lunatic
wreaking drunken
rage dry mouthed
havoc across the backstreets
of midtown Omaha and
its farthest reach east
Missouri river marking
the quiet mud-suck
boundary and my eyes
are flitting as I finish
this testimony with a
collapse into bed covers
up to cozy chin
through the cloven
hooved dark night -

it’s two AM in my life again,
no daylight but pointless
anyway as my eyes
are drawn shades
and for as sober as I
am, will not remember
this a jot further.

(October 5th, 2014)