drivethru

it takes exactly
one cigarette
to warm up my car
in
a ten degree cold.

i hear a song,
circa the 1950's,
something about love
of course,
some song
i've never heard before,

but it kept me interested.

and
something about the guy's
voice,
that sounded so sad,
singing
something about
how
this girl
should allow him
to prove his love
to her.

next thing i know,
i'm going through
a mcdonald's drivethru,
thinking about slaughtered cows,
thinking that even slaughtered
cows have love.

but i'm sure,
these cows
never see the stungun coming.

i order the number 5,
two burgers
with a coke.

it's only hunger,
but
i'm trying to think
that something is wrong,

burns

we take
these names
to mean
anything,

and all they usually are,
are just bits
and pieces of smoke
heading for some type
of fan.

you
will never believe
it,
the pronunciation
of a lie
tied
to a burning cigarette
in somebody's
hand.

you will think
of it,
only as a noose,
so that
the burning cherry
will burn
that noose
that you hang from
loose.

and then
the only place
where
you really are,
is at the bottom of an ashtray,
looking up,
imagining shapes
in the smoke.

hallway

the sounds
in this hallway,
bounce
off the walls,
searching
for an escape.

the walls,
in this hallway,
are always
just a bit crooked,
enough so
that the angles
have crumbled.

sometimes,
when your just thinking,
you swear
that you can even hear
ghosts.

and when i'm standing
there,
searching
for that room,
guided by the hand
of voices,
it's then
that i realize
that i'm lost.

saturday afternoon kitchen

the midafternoon sun
sits
in the windowsill
like an old friend.
i wear it
like a blanket.

all i have
is this coffee
and some thoughts
that evaporate
with this light.

there's a tiny fly,
stuck,
between the screen
and window,
trying to find
a way out.

i open the window,
light another smoke,
and the tiny fly
has found an out.

i take another sip
of coffee
as i stare
at the backporch door.

movement

a plane flys over
the city of phoenix
at 2:05
in the morning,

westbound,
probably going to
either san diego
or l.a.

i'm in the lounge
chair,
drinking my beer,
smoking a marlboro,
not thinking of much,
just studying
the hue
of the early morning
clouds.

no doubt
there are people sleeping
on that plane.
no doubt
they were sleeping
in their own beds
just twenty four hours ago.

and i'm thinking,
in one week
i won't be in this lounge chair,
at this house,
with a stream of tiny mountains
watching over me,
anymore,
like i have been
for the past three months.

i won't be
in this town either,

just in another place
where
the restlessness
will reset.

religious findings

i clutch
this bottle
within
the bones
of my hand,
like
it's some holy grail.

within
the guts
and bile
of this bottle,
the opiates
create the battle.

and when i'm high
i'm most likely lying
to you,
to her,
to some god
i haven't yet met.

in my laboratory,
when there is just me
and this bottle,
and i'm searching for
the creation
of the perfect excuse,

it's there,
that my findings
just turn into
a fading buzz.

and it's always then,
that i realize
that my life
trenched
into this religion,
has won.

survival skills

everything
just melts
and fades
into stew,
and the remnents
become
the glue
that binds us
to what
we have become.

we are
the victims
of a lineup
of memories,

and sometimes
it starts out good.
then,
something always
happens.
a period is placed
on the head
instead of a crown.

and sometimes
that place
was never any good,
and the only thing
we have to show
are sleaves
of scars.

still,
underneath the stewed muck,
it's really incomprehensible
how the individual
survives.