Harry chased the shadows
around rooms without windows,
straw up his nose,
a bottle of Jack Daniels
on the moveable food tray,

the eye of the storm,
fierce, beautiful,
and like a hurricane
he came and went without meaning.

all he owned was time,
walked the days
like old newspapers
blowing down a deserted street.

Harry wandered the neon sky

on fire with wounded women
wrapped in night,
caught by the song
of mermaids and sirens
who sweetly sang Odysseus
onto the rocks.

so he chose to fly, soar
above the high wire trapeze
into cloudy silence,
grasping for tranquility
in the heartland where serenity
always slipped like water
through his cupped fingers.


the sky is a fickled lover
always just out of reach.

reckless grace,
the sky leaned closer
and Harry kissed the clouds.