There Should Be a New Post From Time to Time

And this should be it. I have nothing to offer right now. It's cold and the son is sleeping.

Che shirts for those who got obese on capitalism.

On the street behind us there's a lady who lives with her two kids Jonathan and Daniel. the reason I know her name is because she screams at them at the top of her lungs so loudly that even with the windows closed I hear her. Last night at 2am the police were pulled up at her place. I was hoping they were taking her away, but this afternoon she is a raving lunatic again hurling verbal abuse at her charges.

Peacock Youth

Some of the Best Art is Framed by Windshields

Last Thoughts on Myrtilla Miner Elementary

in northeast amber, smiles
shoveled around, naming worms "Angel"
regretfully returning it all to the soil
a spark that shook me back
lingered days longer than comfortable
left me living younger, nervous again
was I 16 when the majesty of possibility riveted days together
into one washed sweep of tremors?
Someday others will own this hopeless
stack of calendars, every giggle and uncertain walk home
crunching trash and leaves marked,
with annotations and Hawthorne references to prison yard roses.
A beautiful bird winters where the sun never shone
and summers where the concrete laughter pool is dry
I come, and leave then come again
but never pass a night on beds of rats and glass
the shrieks of bad dreams come my way
but not like those in the nest of sadness.
On sunday nights in broken chairs
a mother braids a sad belle's hair
who looks more us
than she does they
but dances on riverbanks among those who seem her own
planting oaks on pollution flows.
Age becomes apparent when one's youth is stirred again
the flickers of gloom vision penetrate
musty urine odored corridors
where glancing about I concentrate
on the possibility of conjuring magic thoughts
of innocent complexity
to life
and the young, but I graying soon at 26
felt once more like a man too young to vote or drive after dark
the radio song is sketchy mournful
and I can see how all that poetry was possible.

View From a Park Smelling Like Urine in Santa Fe

The morning had begun in Fairfax at 4:00am, riding in a shuttle over icy streets to Dulles. Checking in I found out I was on the terrorist watchlist, and could no longer print myown boarding passes. Switched planes around breakfast time in Denver and then traveled down the length of the front range over snow covered emptiness to Albuquerque, picked up rental car and took scenic route north to Santa Fe. Stopped for lunch at a restaurant where the guacamole is made at the table then checked into a 4 star hotel (thank you priceline), and began wandering the city. Sunset found us in a city park on the north side of town populated by bums and winos. Later we would swim in the heated rooftop pool under the stars as the temperature fell into the 30's.

"I think life chose me after all"

I used to say beautiful words about little things they ignored
and it meant so much
every day hurt, and seemed worthy of recording
so I carried a book and a pen about
scribbling what I could never express in the space between my lips and the world
I would ruin relationships born of poetry
with the anthologies I carried from the past on pocket flattened folded filler paper
presented in passing to all the ones who seemed everything for a moment
before something flashier dashed in front of me
or glimmered in gloom just beyond my vision
promised but never realized.
I can't say I suffer now,
but my writing sure does
and this weighs me down
knowing my wife, my child are deserving of adoring poem
my workaday fatigue seems incapable of expressing
the vibrancy and desire, the truth
that I carry in all my thoughts.

Camping at Ramsey's draft

Cape Henry, Virginia

Things That Were