how poetry flows

Loretta lingers

…a week and two days out

and the jumping through hoops is killing me

on the tipping-edge

…I teeter

in the unknowing

the expectation

of having

getting my shit together ripped away at the last moment

they don’t address all the good things

in the white space between words

all the

…trying

only the bad decisions

the actions

that kept my head above water

that kept me bleeding

…ink into warm water

I am the son and the heir

I had known you once…

you were a budding hope

an Echo

that never took?

that let go too soon?

And I had known you twice…

A solid, clear knowing

my life was in the wrong place

at the wrong time

thrice..

when my brother lay dying

did I make the right decision?

and perhaps another

tall, slim, laughing eyes

only the Portuguese have a name…

for mourning things that never were

Saudade

exultation is near

In three weeks I’ll close on a house

In three weeks I’ll move

In three weeks I’ll graduate

but today is full of the sun

the kind of day for watching

Papillion or Cool Hand Luke

for laying about with dogs napping

Today is the kind of day I’ll have

in four weeks…

wheel of fortune

I asked the World for little

she gave me knowledge;

I asked the World for money

she left me treading water;

I asked he World for love

she gave me work;

I asked the World for happiness

she gave me money.

forty-five

when your own hands are cold

dayin dayout

and you’ve learned not to lust

the passing of days

Seems like forever

            since she’s been

            the Good-luck Girl;

but the spacing between Fascinations

has inched from months into years

measured by too many Degrees
and boredom with the offerings

Incomprehensible

            are the passing of days

and the growing older

            while staying younger…ish

she lives in a limbo of learning

            and perpetual hope

            difficult to suit

“You can never win or lose

if you don’t run the race…”

            ~ Psychadelic Furs, “Love My Way”