Somewhere to Start

Of man and arms bullets sung of where this war is now. who is warrior? who is man? who is mourned in past battles as gunfire continues.

Upon the womb targets have taken hold. in the streets last words are persevered to be whispered into newborns’ ears.


Who has stolen the chariot this time and is driving the sun back down to earth? the soil has turned to glass. no fruit to bear but reflection.


Questioned. questionable from the so-called start. lands renamed. history given a beginning and a prequel panned by the critics.

The story so far has brought readers to agony but began for the hero as dismissal. given nothing but leave, the mission took off. hands up surrendering only to the sky. taking all other limits. on the way. tucking them away for memory. something to give. somewhere to start.


this is where we’re at

eaten alive/ to finish.season to season answers stalled for convenience.nobody’s smiling.this city/that block.takes more than we have to hold it down against the machine coming for us.this game’s got nothing on what’s being pimped on us.something stronger to sling is on its way.harder high/lows to undercut oppressed.petty bourgeoisie disenfranchised in the streets.power redistributed from low wages to make the next buck tougher to hold onto.days spent trying to shake that load off are cut short.curfew.pat down.surveiled.thoughts liberated of’s avantgarde around here to wonder.where have the parades gone? and lyrics incomplete.all been given to those buried stars that guided us and ours from home to here to now to same old same chain.but today’s primetime for a show of what’s next.possibilities to be born.hopes ready to be deployed.everyday was the range folks getting a taste of the sun, feel of the cold, view of other fields from the fence before the slaughter.yesterday was the flame.slash and burn.woke up this morning with different and there penned in skin marked.branded for burden.destined for one purpose.brought to be here for one thing.brought up with other ideas.disagreements end in finality around at it again.survival continues.learned to’s in the blood.forgetting how to get tired.lash is wearing thin.chain is rusting.border is ready for breaking.


  • take it. keep it. whichever feels more appropriate. just don’t return it. consider it a repayment for this time recently passed which was sufficiently wasted. have a token to forget this by. a memento of loss.


Times like now when the snow has given the town its first taste of winter, this is when the talking starts. Conversation before becoming cabin-bound for the next few months. Get all the advice possible. Learn a few things. Make lists. Fill up on something for the lonely times. Give the old dreams some new playmates.


These days the air is delicate. It breaks easily for words. The summer’s frost between two at the bar melts. With options dwindling, any talk will do.


Didn’t know where to begin.

Didn’t know where this might go.

Didn’t know

Didn’t ask


Town is one thing. Home is another.  The two are governed by different dictates. Faces worn for the world slip off once threshold is crossed.


The smiles brought to town on these cold days are discarded  back home where the position in this world is further understood. In the space of a room with snow pressing its cold in, into the skin, the situation is solidified.


Winter will be another loss.  Hope will have to be held for another season.


The home. The cabin is stocked as meager as what could be afforded. The walls are for one but more would be merrier. Bar is further than should be traveled by foot. Risky, buzzed on icy road, bad tires.


Company is imaginary once again.


These days when the snow lets up. Gives the world a break and town feels close again. It’s time to take chances again.


Play the game of talk too much or say too little. Everybody’s got loneliness on the mind but everybody’s also getting used to it then the winter will be through and cold will be a part of the town again. Ice between everyone until the chill returns to shock. Warm one to another. Warn one of solitude. Bring together for a moment or more. Always less than needed.

Aknowledges Going

long, slow chance




-call now





ends met.


one desire gone





To Blisters

Sleep was just another part of life in this neighborhood. This time of night/day souls were at rest. Nothing left to say that couldn’t be told to dreams.




Passive transgressive.


All insults to the inanimate ignored until noon under blue background, fading snores, cloudy hopes.

Impaled wishes. Lost. Darkness distilled. Dense, concentrated. Hooked to, into, movement of sun pressing itself to self as likeness is distorted. Turning away from light. Rays which change seed to bud. Lakes to desert. Skin to blisters.

More To Say

what looked so good on the outside was so much better in.

walking steals desperation from the crawl.

when too much light has given  a fuse will blow taking more than sight with it.

the imaginary friends will fail to dream as sandman is waylaid by what lurks in closet, under bed

in the eyes of those most trusted.

in fear, the soul was raised in hopes, the ghosts were fed to stave off the spirits who spoke only of what  ending might breed.

the crib’s bars are the first borders  not to be crossed

next is line laid out by a lover.

the dearest of decisions declared

will uphold justice until only  the two between whom the pact was made does not find vengeance enough merely in the finality of a sentence.