Nobody knows when
love will roll in and
waltz with your crippled
soul.
Nobody knows when
the chickens will come
home, or when the dog
will have its day.

I heard of a place where
silence blossoms into
flowers of wisdom, but
when I ask for directions,
nobody knows.

I taste the sadness of
the sky in every poisoned
drop of rain.
I was born to swallow it.
To be consumed by the
gray expanse.
I ask for the antidote,
the cure.
Nobody Knows.

What happened to the
street signs, the picket fences,
all the love and empty spaces?
People play games, and only
traces of humanity remain.
How do I pull the cord on
this parachute?
Nobody Knows.

"Life is so short",
said a man to his wife,
"So short I want to cry!"

The wife replied:
"I didn't know my husband
isn't a man, but a butterfly".

the fullness of words in your mouth
my trembling hands
a truth cuts deep
into the ribs of morning
it's the big bang of language
when silence has no shadow

It didn't matter if it was
August, and the air felt like an
oven on broil, or if it was
February, and the dumpsters
were icecicles to the soul.
We needed *****, and since we
didn't have jobs, the cans, at
5 cents a piece were our
aluminum tickets to sweet relief.
The magic click.
Enough cans meant a bottle of
whiskey
*****
gin,
anything to dull the
sharp, vivid pain of life.

We sifted through
cat ****
catsup
***** diapers
discarded ***** mags,
and all the other
garbage from the
rich and the poor.

One winter morning,
I threw back a heavy metal lid,
and there was a fat
raccoon looking up at me.
If Bacchus or Dionysus were
smiling, we found a
full bottle.
It happened once in
a while during summer when
the college kids headed home.

Miles of walking,
freezing or burning up,
We were the aluminum
cowboys.

I can't close my eyes
tears gather.
I can't breathe
the air is stuck.
I can't gulp
my throat is tight.

I try to plant my dream,
but land is
barren

Still, I try.
Even my conscience
mocks me.