i bring the beer to my lips before i make myway to the end of the bar. my feet leading me without thinking. I mind is reaching for the line that was just there. I have found in most bars the light at the end of the bar has some quality that allows the absorbing of words. I set my beer and my book down. Only then taking notice of the sometime patrons and regulars. I love this place.



where are you going with this? The question that always plagues me when I sit to read. I scare myself sometimes because I am ussually willing to follow flights of fancy and go down into the darkest cellars of the authors minds. Racing heart, sweaty palms and all. Achored to the stool I dare to roam all over. I pick up the tome and dive in. I read of bookstores and murders. I read of children and tears. A fencing match between the devil and the author.



I finish the Stella and look down the bar. Jackie is tending this evening. She makes her way down to me and I nod. What are we having this time she asks. I raise my hand and spread my finger apart about 2 inches McCallan and then raise my fingers again and McCallan. She crinkles her nose at me. She grabs the 18 and starts to pour. She sets the glass down "Must be distrubing"

"Scotch seems to be the best protectant to these dark pages" I say as I bring the glass my mouth. Cheers. Armed again I delve deeper into the book. letting him lead me where he will.

trying to hold sand

i awoke in your embrace the night of your father's wake.
I felt him there with us and heard his voice.
"I will show you what will come" he said to me.
He bid me walk with him and I agreed.
Mid-breath I left you and returned.
Hair once black had now gone white.
Lives upon lives I lived that night.

Down every road, I found my self alone
and still i stayed and called you home.

Would you have stayed if you had known?

4:17

what was that? I asked myself. I felt it again; she is trembling. I keep my eyes closed for just a moment longer. I look up to see the bedside clock blazing 4:17 at me.

"I need to talk." I hear so softly it seems she is talking to herself.

"I know." I get out in a broken voice. I sit up, stretch my neck and reach for the light.

"Leave it off or i don't..." her voice trailing off. I feel her trembling becoming stronger.

"Its okay. its okay. We will leave them off." I say as I settle myself closer to her. "What is it, my sweet?"

"They have come back..." she whispers her legs pulled, arms wrapped around them. " Are you sure?" I can feel her looking up at me.

"Never been more sure of anything" I say as I reach out and touch her face.

"I can't do this to you." she said through her laboured breaths.

I wrap my arms around her and pull her close to me. "I am here."

I feel her body relax just a bit, her head now laying on my shoulder.

a conversation at bedside

of use and youth
sing to me

of family and friends
sing to me

of tears and longing
sing to me

sons and daughters
sing to me

of wives and mothers
sing to me

sing this numbness away

i will learn your song
and sing it in your stead

must we all go?

he is aging before my eyes
growing tired as he speaks
he will know us

a father lies as the son sits by his side
the thread of conversation jumping back upon itself
he will remember

the drugs so strong, they dull all
a daughter will help him drink
he will ask more of all of us

he will envoke a prayer and wrap it in a tear
a wife will sleep as best she can
he will trust in us

i strain my mind
shut my eyes tight against world
i will focus all that is in me
i will pray,
cry,
laugh,
remember,
dream,
and watch you pass.

we don't have long now

She turned to me with a look of seriousness, her face grave but her eyes shinning. "Would you walk with me if the whole world could fly?" she asked. One of her tests again. I have answered quite a few recently, she is writing again.

I take a moment to think about the question, to show that I am taking this seriously. I light my cigarette and take a hit. "I would." I say through the exhale of smoke. "I would forsake my wings and never fly again, if you would ask."

She closed her eyes. I could almost see the pictures of the world she was envisioning. The age and worry melted off her face as she opened her eyes. They focused on me, misty.

"We don't have long now." she whispered, kissed me and left.

mirrored waters

is it water that we tread on?
for i have fallen through the ground

I will try to stand upon my own two feet in this world and the other

do we really know what lies atop our dressers?

I empty my pockets every day and place the items inside a ceramic jar, given to me by one I still think about. It is not exactly round at the opening, maybe 10 inches in diameter but it takes my life's contents without any trouble. It is a purple jar with a ring of running dark grey about its lip. The steely grey has dried in place as it ran down its side in the kiln. There are tiny imperfections in the ceramic where the air bubbles exploded as it heated up. I have had it for many years now. No chips or cracks as of yet. It is one of a few things that I have carried with me from place to place. It is full of change, receipts and God knows what else.

It is Monday, the day to restore order to the world. I have dusted and removed all the clutter from the top of my dresser. Socks that have made several attempts at freedom have been safely returned to their drawers. The matches have been picked up from my glass candle dish. I have replaced the candles that have started to melt to half an inch of the glass.

I have looked at the jar 5 times and I cannot bring myself to go through it.

I have fixed my bed. I have folded the laundry. I have sorted the rest for my trip to the laundry mat. I have hung all my coats and rearranged the shirts again. I have straightened all my shoes. Picked up all my books.

I will not touch the jar today.

I will write in whispers

you will not hear me when I vocalize the words
you will not see me as I dance and play

I will write in whispers and move the world to my tune