Friday, July 23, 2010


No one every warned me
to fear my hands
but they should have

-Paul Guest

My oldest nightmare
resonates like wooden floorboards
shifting in solemn hours
where a tune is played
a closet door opens
and inside darkness
calling me to it.

You were white
and it was white
all over again
in the shower
and on your bed.
Drawn out
like a funeral.
Three gun salutes
then quiet.

I slept walked
from your room
to the sofa that was
a veritable twin mattress
of red cushion
until it got weird
and your roommate
saw me naked.
That moment
is dead now,
at least for a while.
Family continues
to reel without
not that you were present
the last five years
brash honesty
is an unfiltered cigarette
smoked whatever
wells try to hide
during daylight.

A simple kind of emotion
services the crowd
as the benches are drawn
and the people begin to kneel.

The lake is quiet
(give thanks and breathe)
then interrupted
(give thanks and breathe)
by crappies breaching
in the dream
you were trying
to sleep
with the bedroom door open.

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