Wednesday, March 31, 2010

new poem

Left Of Shamrock

came to
the window, colder, earlier
there were others with
certified colors, pamphlets
of local knowledge,
turned left, transported by
bus, bullets through
the lobby, from the ledge
they watched us
incinerate the evidence, you
were tired, fingers over
the electric fence,
frightened, four clicks
from the warehouse district,
jumped the guard rail,
fire from the quarters, two
miles left, stomach
full of capsules, skinned my
knee nearby, ears
stationed to constant ringing,
and sirens calling from
somewhere else.

Friday, March 12, 2010

new poem


dropped their flashlights, morning
happened, slunk out the van,
your tiny hand, scabbed, tracked,
limply clutching your
mother’s silver flask, shaken awake,
we fled the Emporium,
blacked out in Naples, blood on
your sneakers, pockets
full of Crystal, night turned
red, you let go of him, lost
through weirder subdivisions,
stucco dens of
pill-snatching pre-teens, your
brothers and sisters, your
pin-eyed minions, found you
again near the church,
eyes all wrong,
pulled you up, brushed your
skull, moved on,
cut through Sorrento Woods
into the Campus, hid under
the bleachers until
they saw us, ran far through
unfamiliar pastures, ran for
hours, woke up, tied up,
locked in the neighbor’s
shed, saw you
near, smiling,
and something heavy
was lifted.