Callow Crooks Cobblestone the name of man
in the sense that there is none to be spoken of anymore.
Catapulted his good graces out of the house to another realm where it's all whispers
of impish names and frozen as Halifax.
You can see the slander in the spumes of breath
Evident as they gallop along
Jumping on crystalline snow flakes.
Flailing, faltering, finally reaching floor too frigid to melt.

Mild light. Awake. Soft, warm spot against core.
Hummingbird peeking at me, bed head exposed in pallid dusty day light.
Breathing patterns do not always have to match: romantics beg to differ.

I understand it is my poor health and the years of smoking
I understand you never had that.

Electric blanket machine on 8
will your eyes be emeralds today?
Red wood bark four days straight.

At the risk of looking foolish I undress anyway
She left her clothes off the whole night through and never shivered once in February.
Taking breaths that feel worthy all over again.

I was asleep in the backseat
the rookie aircraft pilot
palms sweaty, muttering.

Lover leftovers with others
and no longer the apothecary
for each other.
"If you can't beat 'em hold your breath young man"

Bend down in the basement now materializing. There are no such wolves in the den, only an elderly woman who keeps strange hours and refuses to keep all the vessels clean.

(a.)
Foreboding monolith of vapor: the light within you gone
Vacant, these shields of rust could use the Midas touch, that has kissed this territory
"has been" of forty-nine.

(b.)Undulations, groaning skies.
A baptism by the passengers of aerial descent and gorgeous remains dance about us.

Intangible, trickling, and howling in between.
Everything is somewhere but most times I am nowhere.
Everyone is somebody or a couple somebodies.
Sentiment is at sea or at least appears to be when my yellow bird is away.
Descending beads of my work
Jewels of (1) sustenance, which water the bird and keep thy beak from (2) drying.
Everything is the cause but the cause itself. Everyone is (3) reacting to an event or an event maker in between. Somewhere, somebody is something
and they are howling in between.

Those types of cats can shake me
especially when you're looking your best
the Oedipus Rex yields, and you wield his complex. There are tired green eyes there
that you wont be so privileged to see unless you wait for another spring
to pass.
And all the car lots look like demographic charts: we are the Geo Metro's while they are the Cadillacs
and BMW's.

Another night spent on cheap ***** and tea
some for your lungs, some for your gut.
A can of distraction, of seething wonderment
that hides the inner-workings of your dire disposition.

And, still

you plant yourself next to the rest of the wall flowers and sneer
and make pretend you know the deal
that you know time like Billy Pilgrim knew time.