it happens more and more

I had just walked out onto the front steps, all the lights off, the wife and girls are out of town, me just meditating in my cave. I saw him standing near the Ford, so I called out “can I help you brah?” I had seen him ride past, checking it out. He was wearing a grey hoody, some old surf jeans and crippled Vans. He looked about my age, or 23 on meth. As he heard me, he said “yeah man, do you know where Hanover Street is?” I replied, smugly “no, maybe in another town.” “ I’ve seen you ride by, checking my place out, looks sort of empty I guess, so really dude, what the fuck?” he calmly said “look bro, I don’t want no trouble, everything’s chill, and what’s up with that?”, referring to my short, stout and heavy sand wedge. So I told him “look man, I come out here every night to watch the stars, but some nights I see some crazy shit; fox, possums, raccoons, even deer, tons of deer. So anyway, what I’m saying is I never know what I might run into out here in the dark, some of which I might need defense from, some I might just want to kill and eat.” He turned, and went for his bike leaving with “cool bro, have a good one.” –peddling away like a homeless rocket technician.
I went back inside, and about a half hour later after a chat with Ed, I walked outside again, just for a few minutes. I noticed all the cars, it must be Easter. My Highway tells me things. I know what to expect by what she bears. She tells me when they are coming, and how many of them, what breed? And some nights, when its Nor’easter cold I can hear the power lines crackling and buzzing in the stiff breeze and salt air. I like those nights, when my Highway is still, anyway.

The chill and the vehicles sent me back inside to the warm nest and the potato salad I set out before all of this. I don’t know, nor care if anyone else thinks like this, but I like my potato salad closer to room temperature than refrigerator temperature, of course, having first been cold. I don’t know why. It has probably got something to do with my grandmother, and homemade sweet pickles.

dextro meth orphan

there was a light

over a left shoulder
as a head and
cupped hand dipped
right and down
to light the
half cigarette
and
rising
a click, an exhale;
ancient knowledge my
tree moans to me as
a couple of vines tighten;
and that light
on my cheek
then second squinted glance
as eyes pass
head spins ‘round
past highway noise
and fox and mole
as squint slowly
to open eye,
home now in the
darkened and shadow.
now more smoke is
taken and gave
and gaze is open
and blue,
shark-cold.

-i threw the end
of it to a low spot
where it will lay
until I walk to
collect them all,
returning now
the end of the world…

come!
;
as I walk you through
this dream of me
borne of
dextromethorphan
and children’s
public
broadcasting:


“i will take you
In other time”
the dream told me
to tell you…

-the point is not
in there

it was just
confusion

after magic show

the end of the
world
-allusion to grey walls
substance and
sparkling lights of
many colors.

(i awoke
and choked the
cinnamon and sugar
down
and then to the
machine to tell you,
but interrupted by
the day’s news
of three sisters
in India;
seven
nine
eleven;
raped and brutally slain
and tossed in a village well,
and the message of
the merging
of another friend
with everything.

one hundred years ago

if i could snap
it shut if i could
silence- and drift from this
there would be wonder
where machines once whirled,
no love
no more
intercom sounds short
electronic beeps


paper
colors
sub text
wolves


just focus on
the drifting* kid
the rest will steal
your heart stone blind
so
don't watch them
anymore

go
and light a
fire in forever.

*
(map and legend
of/to accompany
imagery of colored
electro-static wave
vibrations that made
up that
scream
aimed
outward
towards
that
star that
blinked at me
one hundred years ago,
or somethin')

warm rain brings centipedes

i stand beneath my
live oak

leaves, branches
heavy with warm rain
as i move in and out
trough them, among them
smashing my cigarette;
we've survived another
winter

now together
we bear the
burden
of
satisfying
the unfulfilled

walking up the
concrete
i hear the
centipedes
crushing
popping beneath
my feet

i hate them

on a good day
i pick fifteen
up from
my floor

i disagree as
i crush and
flush them
but the
thought of them
crawling in my
mouth and ears
overrides
the ego behind
my ideals
so this is the
life now

shoreside and midnight

ahhhh, that bitch blows
hard here again
that angry Nor'east wind

sending hundreds of
women and men
scurrying to pile sand
all along highway 12
like winter's residents
pile mid-western snow

winter is here to
rip apart again, rebuild
for spring, and nourish
this home so thin

thunderous crashes
where barrels would break
that beautiful glass crash
replaced by her roar
above traffic
above television
above reason
and all else

this is the life
of the land we chose
soon to be tales
of before the sea rose.

blue wild angels (01/08/2013)

well,
there it be.
laying by the street that
old and young
christmas tree

county pickup was yesterday

but i just drug it out,
figuring
some local late-
winter dune builder will
stop and throw it in his
truck.

or, it may burst into
flames of blue wild angels.

it grew seven years to
warm the hearts of
one small family and
guests for about a month.

pre-old Christmas Dream (01/07/13)early.

what a good and
ironic day
to have awakened

i turned in early
after giving up
on the natural path
thank you sleep aid
eight, maybe ten Klonopin,
(i stopped counting)
but i wanted it all
to shut up

i remember waking
around one and fifteen
-ay em
and walking outside
in inappropriate dress
and insufficient shoe
a cigarette, fast
and a swig of Coke
(this i can varify)
also
Holley and the babe
switched to the couch
as in my stupor for
the commode i kicked
the kiddie gate left
in the wrong spot.
(also varifyable)

i asked her to come back,
she assured me she was not
mad
just coughing
i returned to bed
sure that i would not sleep again


four hours later
i could swear i was awake again, still
and through the slit in the curtain
i could make out the shadow
of an S.U.V. parking
near my house
so i fumbled for the shoes and the
pants again
and a flashlight and made
for the encounter
(also sure of a buzzsaw in a neighbors yard)
i endeavored to yell and scream
the buzzsaw vanished but the
man was in my side yard
dis-assembling lawn mowers for scrap
we talked as everything changed
i told him my father in law does the
same.
he left. then i woke up
for real, looking for the
flashlight, and out of the
window
as my wife and girls slept
on that couch...in a daze
standing near the Christmas Tree
in the darkness
i wondered if any of this was real
that vision
once fading, i realized all but
my stumble to the
living
room
in
old
shorts
was
dream.
i remember getting out of my room was a
swirling of colors
all hallucination
i knw not up nor down
could not find the door yet
i stood among my family
them asleep and me the idiot.

i crept back into bed
and snuck in, and slept
in real time again, this
i can now confirm.

today is a wonderful morning to
have reached.