Fragments and short poems of mine:
Sold my dining room furniture
At the pawn shop, Grandma forgive me.
I’ve seen the sunset in too many bedrooms
That weren’t my own,
Now I’m falling in love
With myself for the first time.
I’m gonna paint my pictures
Hang them in my living room
And pay lots of money
Just to have them framed.
– Long Way Enough
Drinking Cokes out of the box
And eating Zeros and Chick-O-Stiks
And dragging my feet in the dust
Under roadside pecan trees
And remembering all the dead folk
From back when I was small
And they weren’t dead yet
All summer I will ride
Between the Baptist and the Klan
Talking to kids and old men
About God and race and fishing
Til I am ready to ride the hound
Needles and dealers and dying on dirty bathroom floors.
sitting at the old oak table in the kitchen
in the one unbroken chair
where an innocent morning light travels through
the grimy glass of an un-curtained window,
he sits and writes about all the people Jesus didn’t save tonight.
He reads them to us in his clean white shirt.
We sit and listen as the words pour out like crystal
clear champagne on our glass tabletops.
–In the One Unbroken Chair
The children play on the broken cement
Of the painted courtyard.
On three sides the walls are painted
With palm trees, a school house
And once happy children.
Though the painting has faded,
Leaving the children eerily faceless.
The real children seem oblivious of the painting
And are content collecting bugs
And weed flowers on the dry and shadeless ground.
– The Painted Courtyard
I pry the cake of wax out
With my only slightly rusty jack knife
And stab a canned tomato
Removing it carefully with my lips
As I wipe the acid covered blade
On my dirty work pants
I think how the scars of my early years show
No matter how soft the inside of my fingers become
– Stabbing the Rusty Blade
Trade all your hopes for a sure thing
Just to watch it get stolen
From under your mattress
Like the gold watch of retirement
That breaks before you leave the parking lot
Wasted dreams and lost hope
A police report tells you what is missing
A child’s face tells you what is lost
You are that child, and you are that lost
-from How to See Alabama
The shiny deathtrap
that is tomorrow
rattles by and wakes me from the gentle sleep
that is now
Go on glowing machine
of the coming day
take the future with you
I will sit here and listen to lullabies and nursery rhymes
and listen to nursery rhymes
Weeks passed, arm bands and tummy aches
Tired late night children
Crying to stay longer
Acrobats and clownsbBetween acts,
Smoking a little this, a little that,
Wishing the crying babies would take flight.
Today, the cranes are back
The fair is due somewhere else
And the shiny dreams and plastic cups
Are packed away
Selling ice cream in the cemetery
In the late September afternoon
The gaudy sound of “Pop Goes the Weasel”
Chasing heat tails across the green, green lawn
Where the immigrant children play
In lieu of the park that isn’t here
Hide and seek amongst the headstones
And the death of summer is, itself
Lingering in the air show less