Memory

She is a fugitive
Hiding in plain sight
Living loudly in the day
Sleeping safely in the night.

She is a poet
Rhyming deftly her life
Her days a published letter
As edged as any knife.

She is music
Her purposes recorded in grooves
And her actions the stylus
Her lifetime gently soothes.

She is august brilliance
Remembered in lightening blaze
Her memory burning daily
Shinning brightly through the haze.

She is, to me, sacred memory
And the kindling I require
To warm my aging memory
With the comfort of her fire.

Just a Thought....

When a man tells you he is going to kill you...believe him. When a woman does not tell you she is going to kill you, suspect her anyway. (A lesson from East Texas, 1990).

The Next 50 Feet

I have been down as many alleys
As I have main drags.
But I remember alley cinder
Better than I do concrete boulevards.

I remember fires
Kindled in 50 gallon drums
And needles in mud puddles.
I remember burned out garages
And wary eyes half-hidden
behind kitchen blinds
Little white baby dolls
With shorn yellow hair
Sightless eye sockets.
I remember the lust
For danger inherent
In the next 50 feet
And the bitter burn
Deep in my throat.

The CTA buses belch diesel
On Stoney Island
But in the alleys
The air stings
Of cigarettes
Cheap whiskey
And sex.

I remember the sharp crunch
Of cinder
Beneath my boot
The skittering of rats
And the whimper escaping
Torn screens
From the third floor walk-up.

From 79th Street
The Chicago Fire Department
Bone Bucket screams
Like a bereft mother
But here in the cinder alley
Is the metallic click
Of the slide
On a 9 with an extended clip.

I know these alleys
And they remember me
Because you never forget
The sights
The smells
The sounds
Of those preparing
To die.

Come, Day, Come!

Come, Day, Come!

The morning of The Day
Is coming
When these unsteady legs
Will strengthen
And I will stand.

All those wisdoms I've practiced
Will cleave
To the roof of my mouth
And the only sound
I will utter
Will be a stunned gasp.

These hands will stretch
To embrace you
But will clutch my sternum
From fear they will but wither
When offered the Divine.

This grey matter
That has parenthesized
Life and death
So offhandedly
Will fail for fear
It has missed
The fragrance
Of forever.

Nevertheless...
Come, Day, Come!

Tear away the gauze
Shred the body and bones
Of this tremulous present
That I might finally stand
On good ground
In the bright, new
Golden light
Of morning.

Long Night Moon

A frigid Long Night Moon

Watches me shivering

Within a horse blanket

Wishing for a slosh of whiskey

Or a cup of bitter coffee

Dying slowly

In this cold camp.

My pony stamps on hard soil

In patchy snow

Nothin’ to eat

And the stream’s frozen

His breath suspends

In the full moon night

In this cold camp.

In this cold camp

I force myself awake

Knowing if I sleep

Death waits patiently

And I'll be found

By wolves and winter's moon.

My bones will bleach here.

In this cold camp

I watch December's disk

Climb pathless skies

Taking no notice of me

Eyes closing

Seeking hopelessly to embrace the inner flame

In this cold camp.