moon

moon-
you look down at me
with your big eyes
as i sit cross legged
here on the ground
with several stciks
and a book of matches
trying desperately
to get this fire started
with only this wet wood
from this afternoon's downpour.
it left me wet,
the downpour,
and now i am quickly growing cold
in my wet clothes
and have nothing to warm me
except the potential of this fire,
and perhaps you,
though as i struggle with this wood
and my ever dwindling number of matches,
i forget that you are there,
and notice only that the wood
and matches remain visible
because you look down at me
with your giant eyes.

blazed

he had been waiting all day for this moment
alone with a ziploc baggie
a steak knife from his aunt's kitchen
and a cheap cigar
he stole from the gas station across the street
he carefully cut a line
down the side of that cigar
making sure he got it straight
so it would be easier to roll back up
he peeled it apart along this line
turned it over
and dumped it out
now it was just the shell of a cigar
meaningless and empty
like his life here
away from home
he unzipped the baggie
and with his fingertips
again carefully
filled the paper back up
hed bring it back to
lead a better life
than the one originally planned
he filled it
with as much as he thought he could still roll back up
and then more patience and more precision
putting it back together
along the division he had created
and when he had finished
he admired his work
could taste it on his tongue
even before he reached into his back pocket
for the lighter
flicked along the little metal wheel
drew his breath
and watched it burn

for love: thunder

it was hard to see tonight,
through the windshield,
as i drove home in this storm.
tonight the sky opened up
and let fall,
everything it had inside-
rain and hail and lightning
in sheets and forks.
and i drove home
through puddles
and anything else
lying in the way.
it was hard to see
through the windshield
because of the storm.
you told me you loved
someone else,
and i left,
and it started to rain,
and now the puddles are deep,
and i can hear them
ripping my car from underneath
as i drive through them.

in london (though russian in spirit)

it is raining here tonight,
and i remember a night in london
spent mostly on the stoop
of a hostel.
i remember as much now
as i remembered the next morning,
which isn't much,
but the hangover seemed to think
that i should have remembered more.
i remember two bottles of vodka
shared between us three,
you other two both being girls,
and i swear to this day that
the small one was cheating
and not taking as many shots
as she was giving me.
i remember that the vodka was painful
going down.
i remember that it came back up later,
more gracefully for me than for you two.
i remember that i at least managed to
lean over the railing,
rather than depositing
all that was in me on the doorstep.
i remember a broken bottle
at some point,
and i remember chaperoning that bottle
down the sidewalk a ways,
so that it wouldn't hurt anyone.
it seems ironic that it wasn't that bottle's glass that inflicted damage.
i remember someone calling me gene wilder.
someone told me the next day
that i had been threatened;
i still wonder if it might have
been by that gene wilder gent.
i remember the dizzying trip
inside, alone, though i have no
recollection of you two leaving me.
i remember the maze that was
the inside of that hostel-
too many sets of stairs,
they all looked the same.
i remember finding a bathroom,
room enough for just one.
i remember sitting down in there,
fully clothed, just looking for a seat,
and resting my head against the
now closed door.
i remember what must have been later,
being retrieved by jason,
knocking at the door,
leading me back to a room i
wouldn't have been able to find.
i remember the morning,
miserable morning,
and it was raining.
raining in london.

a meditation on shaving

i have resolved to quit shaving
because it is no fun,
and i look ridiculous afterward,
and because it often hurts.

now i have whiskers
maybe a quarter inch long
in a haphazard design
over most of my face.

i feel better having forgone shaving,
though the whiskers sometimes itch,
and sometimes tickle others,
and sometimes collect food and stuff.

but i feel better
even if i still look ridiculous,
because now at least i can blame
the hair for the mess in the mirror.

docked

i sit here on this dock

and feel it sway beneath me.

it threatens to break free

from this shoreline

and float out to the middle of this pond,

taking me with it.

i will gently float along

and bare my feet

so that i might feel

the water move beneath me and my dock.

this dock will become my raft

and i will explore the world,

viewing the shore around me

from the middle of this pond.

i will float aboard my raft

with bare feet and kicking legs,

spinning in the middle of the pond,

watching the concentric circles

my feet create

slowly fade away to solid ground.