i have never sat
with my back to an
open window during a storm

felt the back and forth
breeze upon my elbows

while listening to the sound of
nearby one way traffic

just staring

off into the air
exhaling the smoke
from my throat
lying against some
middle aged cedar

i have thought about
how i had never before
thought about this

(and maybe it turns out
that i am just too busy
when it storms)

i do not,
rather i do
not
want to
resemble
you

Nebraska

how i miss you

lightning bug

how i miss you

little one

how i miss the snow

my how you've grown

how i miss

you pretty babe

it'll just be

another day

says the man

from the radio

looking back

i understand things

which i never thought

i'd understand before

you are you own

i may place one word

at your feet.

call this your own

you may

believe these words

i gift to you trapping

you are,your

own poem

guarantees are for,the lost,

we live with

belief in possibility

you topple over

black and you in

puddles brewed

beneath you

let your dark side

in(to fear) with

your pathetic
(you are pathetic)
side.

if you wanted

to slice my face- if

you thought about

it long enough you

would hate my face.

giving away your

dark side.

i thought about

the end of it -

lengths and twists

forgot i

would not lend to you

oak oars

by lights to hear

only the story of you-

your hands clenched

and balled to death.

corner stored

I sat to watch in silence,

the resting Wren

who sat to watch in

silence a young pup

who will one day

be without a grand

father clause to come

Happen chance would

be the superstition of any

beast if these beasts knew

they had been lured by morning sun

for rest

i should take

this pill

either or

neither one

or dream

where once trees

of long years were

raised, i have seen

cemeteries in their

place

we make room for

the dead. we make room

for the old. where

two lives tip

we've let one fall

softly

beneath the earth

sunken and whole

i picked from her

the seeds

of long years coming,

the sun children

who would one day

reach out as tall

as their gratitude

beneath them

the rotted earth

the musk and dirt

would lie those

forgotten and unknown