Monday, April 29, 2013


I’m running
past the old school

so there’s Mark?
Joey’s friend
on the elementary
I’m running past,

maybe eleven, drawing
from a cigarette
he found. Joey’s watching him
and I’m
standing away plotting
how to save his life.

I act,
I won’t just stand by.

I bury the butt in tire chips.

my fingertips stink
like hot rubber.

I shake the memory
but not the smell.

and as I pass her house
I’m still in love with Staci Williams.
I still kiss the stream she drank.
I can still run by her house one night
I even crept into her
backyard but the windows were closed,
shades closed there was a black forest behind
me like a poem.

something about coming home, bicycles.
I thought these people neighbors,
they couldn’t
look stranger.

running through
beauty or close-by you want
to be honest for the sake of a butt
you remember when you keep forgetting the world,

17:01.3 or something; the exact time it took
to run down the hill and come back the same.
if you sat and watched you’d only
ever see me running downhill. 

1 comment:

Gunter Heidrich said...

I've been reading this on and off for the better part of a half month, in various ways. I take that as a positive.

I'm not yet prepared to comment further, beyond that the interplay and imagery seems strong beyond just being oblique.