the
pillow comfort of
unlimited
tomorrows
un
limited
the
police siren wails
the
ambulance chases
they’re
at it again
the
time is
two
sixteen
it’s pm
that
means
post
meridiem
that
means
he
shouldn’t be drinking
that
means
they’re at it again
the
road narrows
by the
junipers
by the
school crossing
where
town gives way
to
country
when
the asphalt black
turns
asphalt grey
and
it’s the sad, sorry end
to the
three lane
two
that
are really more like
one
and a
half
enough
room for how it used to be
but not
enough for how it is
and who
knows if it’s enough
for how
it will become
there
it is
there
where
they are at it again
where
the blue lights flash
and the
red lights flash
and we
all know what will
end up
we all
know that she’ll leave
but the
question is ‘how’ as much
at it
is ‘when’
but
never
ever
‘if’
there’s
singing
and
more sirens
a call
to an
alliance
once
struck
in the
back seat
allowed
neat
coming
heavy are the
happy
feet
the
time passed
and
passed again
before
we were told
by
three men
in
shirts
and
hats
enough
alike
to be
‘of the past’
enough
insight
to make
it last
and the
flashing lights went the other way
returning
still
flashing
they
still had plenty to say
like
yesterday
and the
day before that
and the
day before
that
*************************
he was
tall
and
slim
red
hair and a beard
clinging
to his wiry face
his
hands
were
unsure when he shook
there
was no pressure
he had
a nervous look
he
didn’t quite know what to make
or how
to make it
there
was nothing
but an
apology
for
social ineptitude
for the
lack of the truth
which
was how
he was
raised
and happened only on weekdays
because
that’s when
things
tighten
that’s
when
the
male psyche
the
life
gets
squeezed
out of me
*************************
she
kept saying
you are
more than what they think you are
you are
more than what they said
and i’m
gonna keep thanking you
until i
run outta breath
it’s
the way
it’s
the only way
i don’t
so much ‘know’
as i do
‘wonder’ these days
about
you
about
everything
why the
sun rises
and if
that much is a lie
where
the sun goes
and why
it’s always at night
what
wait
what
springtime’ll kill you
if i don’t
kill you first
*************************
it was
a wedding ring moon
i sang
that one before
in spartanburg
he had a trumpet
hand-made by eldon benge
from way out in los angeles
where his brother lived
it sounded sweet
the low
notes
better
than any goddamned saxophone
that
much i know
is it time to go home?
*************************
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