Spring

101 Travelers Plaza, Somewhere, TN

gas is $2, ¢59 at the 101 Travelers Plaza. only a mile to the next rest stop — the kind of rest stop where you avoid sleeping in favor of stringing hammocks between cars of the ones you trust in an empty (but guarded) WalMart parking lot. Tennessee freeways are always straight like arrows that fly between gas stations and the next Subway where the food tastes only slightly better than hungry. you take it all over that stable ground — these dreams have wings. 

faster, write faster
go faster car, faster man
can’t you think for yourself?

–––

wake up stretch, wake up / flexibility, wake up / mind, wake up my soul 

spawning ideas like frogs
some cling to life, growing legs
to travel new lands

how many poems 
must i write to be a poet 
if a poet could write

the many sounds of life:
funk music, faces, barks, farts, clinks
white noise, chattering

putting in dues
to the haiku
wouldn’t u?

pastel sky
trailing power lines
lonesome boi

growing beats like plants
taking hold of your mind with roots
“thank god for alt-rock”

constant attempt to
accomplish great feats
with little, there’s much
proverbs are too quick
to be chained to paper
counting and praying

on the edge
inching closer
coffee, on the counter

reading your old poems
“man, you were really good then”
wiping sweat from brow

live to fill the page
with unspooled ramblings
to roll up later

[sipping my coffee
unusual activity flutters
on this wednesday eve

wind blows
a clarion call
walkers take shelter]

go go go go go
gooooooooooooooooooo
said with seven beats

reeds blow in the breeze
like future pipes to be played
“oh, there you are, Pan!”

five ducks finding love
in the gully pond waters
a  seaweed palace

numbers sometimes lie
their syllable count is off
in the case of 7

rocks bob on the top 
like eternal stone turtles
waiting to wake up

waiting in the rocks
stalking through the forest
discovering self

umbrella leans 
sagging tabletop
unfazed beer drinkers

music   memory     a breezy concert hall

get up and go, wind
take this blue umbrella
with you, when you do

violin
axe
murderous instruments

burnished light
gleaming wood
nervous man coughs

golden wood
carved sounds
four men, in unison

note blossoms
fleeting pink petals
love remains

that feel
of opening doors
new seasons
abrupt and lovely
key change

lean your head down low
hear the dirt in your clean ear
bury your loved ones

crickets share secrets
listen to the earth
your mother’s soft voice

mysteries unfold
leaving stories wanting more
don’t ask for answers

inspiration:
a burst of energy
a wow!
grasps like a vice
kills the mood

twilight descends
a mask of darkness
blood suckers wake

a new poem
short 
concise
full of ink
not much else

cleaning off my fountain pen / mosquito juice

a pen that writes well
is to be praised well, often
don’t complicate things