You have your reasons, that much

is sure, gathered like a storm,

striking with lightning, thunder, 

wind even in low places

as you slide the ring back to me,

across the greasy fast-food table,

saying, I can’t go on like this.

From deep in the plains, I say,

Do what you must.


More than the open road

leading away, more than the silly efficiency apartment I

take, its layered silence drilling

holes through me, more than women

on the street who leave me skeptical, jaded,

it’s the flickering flame in the cave,

lighting the farthest, darkest reaches.

Imagine a river

silty and red, usually at low ebb,

but of a sudden pulsing in flood,

tearing the innocent bank.

Now imagine you’re riding the current,

passing houses, fields, watching water

open its folds like a narrative.

How can you judge what turns

are critical to your oeuvre.

As a hazed sky hovers, I see

a small girl playing at roadside.

I want to stop, bend to her. I want

to tell her so much, but

she won’t understand till

she finds out on her own.

It’s too late for a night cap,

or the family pics on the mantel,

or the year books in the attic

to give much solace. So, let’s

course on, take the road to the lake,

find a sense of humor

in the predicament,

never mind how much I thought

was possible, but learned otherwise.

Let my mind be jester,

and my heart, still king.

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