Steamy

A rough draft that I had to put down. I'll work out the details later.

Walk from street from to street
There is a new landscape.
And the steam coming up through the grates,
Its what brings the tourists through.

I like this town with all its scenery.
Its people with a cause,
The shattered, the nameless,
Its chosen few.

They all call to me,
Tell me to stay,
Forget the simple scene
That I knew.

How can a place pull you so much
In one direction?
I didn't know before
That there was
Perfection
In simple steam.

Transition

He threw all of his t-shirts away
when he found out his sentence.
Cast them out with his freedom,
for he would not need their tired
messages, they would not clothe his
purpose correctly after the journey.
There's something to be said for
not selling anyone down the river
for a lighter load to bear.
Not too much to be said for sitting
there longer than one must.
He was gone much of the time before
he left. On a bus to anywhere, somewhere
other than home, Any way to move,
to be fluid in his space,preparing
for being just the opposite,
stationary within the walls,
for longer, because he would not crack
and sell them out. He moved just to look
at the changing, blurry scenery
that sped through time and seemed
to also stop it.
Make it stand still just long enough.
For him to take note, reveal it's purpose.

The Models are Drunk Again

Scuplted garments fall to the floor
as the long limbs of the girls
shed them off. They hurry to
shimmy into the shelter of the next.
As the lights change and as they are cued,
walk in wobbly heels with the grace of gazelles.
Show the work of the nervous girl in the back
The short one who has an eye for form and function.
And a love of luxe. A gather,pleat, or hem
in exactly the right spot. Sewn in
where it will flatter the fabric.

I've Fallen Behind

Earth Day

(I have no idea where I was going with this. Maybe I've been sitting in the sun too much.)


The people gather to watch as the bold few
share their words and songs with the mother.
A nature poem here, and song about mountains
and seas there. Falling together as others
walk by, on their way to more important events.

An anstonished crowd looks on as one who is so
bold as to sing about her lover, who was swallowed
up by the sea, and how she must look to dry land
now that he is gone and not see the waves wash up.

The sun shines on the ones who paint bright pictures
on themselves and paper, wisking away to worship
and all along missing the point. That the earth is here
to hold them until forever, and they should worship it once in awhile.

Frantically he waves his arms, calling up the bold to
sell the value of the earth and it's contents,
not to the highest bidder but to those who would
hold it and trust it's instincts.
For we all know, that Mother knows best.

Lush

The green of this place
seems to set upon me.
It wraps it's humid arms
around me and rocks my
body from side to side
with a breeze that blew in
with the rain.
The green seems to swallow
everything that dares
to be any other hue.
It dances and slithers
its way up to sky
trying desperately to
convince the sun to go away
and let it play
a litle while longer.

Ignatius J. Reilly

I have a class with Ignatius J. Reilly.
He sits in the front and is oh so wily.
He is disguised to be sure so that we won't bother
his sensitive valve while he talks of his mother.

He is missing his green cap and his pirate sword
But I know it is him with every word
That comes out in opinions on this and that
I know it his him without the fucking hat.

He preaches and rails, and probably paints posters
about how the teacher fails, oh how he roasts her!
He's sloppy and belchy, and rolls over the chair
and always seems to be scratching his hair.

I know it is you, Ignatius! I want to scream,
when he speaks of a righteous uprising against the silver screen.
Dude, it's just Theatre Apprectiation Class
Not such a righteous cause, you ass.

Early Morning Drive

Nothing is quite
as unexpected
as the calm that
reveals itself
on an early morning drive.

The world seems
to be shaking off
slumber, wiping
sleep from its eyes;
just as I do.

I sit back in my mind
and calmly pick
my topics of thought
as my hands grip the
wheel and propel
myself into the
still dark dawn.

My headlights
point the way
as I gather myself
toward my destination
and the sun creeps
along the horizon.

I think this time of day
must be when people plan
the world.
Over a gas station coffee cup
cruising down Hwy. 9
drifting through the morning
and arriving at many
conclusions
before the day knows it.
Before it has even had time
to shine.