The Leaves

the leaves are hard and crunchy
under our sneakered feet
there seems to be an opening
to the other side of the street
the city is forgiving
when the city is asleep
but what we couldn’t steal
is what we’d have to keep

autumn is an archway
the element of sound
curved into our finger flesh
the savage is aroused
it wouldn’t be amazing
if the leaves had just turned brown
you can see the darkness coming
it’s just a short time now

the mornings have their pull on me
the blanket is my friend
though they are bad dreams
I don’t want them to end
though they are bad dreams
I can raise the dead
the leaves and wind are out there
but not inside my head

dinner has a first name
breakfast is a child
though it’s slow and plodding
you can make him smile
you can lift the covers
you can fall inside
open all the windowstake me for a ride

November 1, 1999

TGICF (Thank God It's Casual Friday)

The traffic was sticky and slow
I was listening to my morning show
The crew were wild and wacky
Like crack babies on crack
The man in the next lane was staring ahead
At nothing, his baseball cap was on forward
I said "Who do you think you are, Tom Selleck?"
That's when the week flew by
In my personal collective unconsciousness
Monday, I don't like
Tuesday should be shot. Twice
Dry hump day bleeds into Thursday's dirge
As the gods of the 10 freeway blessed our merge
And I really don't have a morning show
I listen to compact discs
Made by men who take medium risks
As I drum the wheel with two-fingered fists
Goddamn it's slow today
But at least I can say
Despite every delay
Thank god
Thank god
Thank god
It's casual friday

February 4, 2005

No Hesitation

I won't hesitate
If you look back, you can see that
Although I run, I move, I shake
I never hesitate
Though I want to, at least once a day

I once held a picture
Of a girl who lived in a trailer
Her dad was dying of Vietnam
Her mom was sleeping, crypt keeping
The girl got out, it was the mid-80s
She went to college, she disappeared
But I held her picture for a moment
I dropped it silently
In a shoe box I can't recall the color of
Never seen her since
I tell this story
Not to boast, not to explain
I tell this story because it never comes out the same

Four years later (always later)
I drove from Brea to Bakersfield
I rode up hills and found the long driveway
Took a blonde girl to a horror movie
I don't know why
But I want to lie
And say we listened to her favorite albums
"Strangeways, Here We Come"
"Kiss Me, Kiss Me, Kiss Me"
Instead
As the misty gummy sky
Couldn't stop her from giving me directions home
We heard Edie Brickell and it didn't matter
I never saw her since
Though when she caught my eye
In the mall video arcade
It was like she was telling me
That the movie saved her life
(her friend had died the previous summer,
killed himself in his sleep)
But I didn't pretend
Anything saved anyone
And I tell this story
Not for sympathy, not for symmetry
But for preservation

18 years later (much much later)
I sat in this very spot
Talking up my movie plot
To a stranger signaling her neutrality
I listened to her as well (I think)
Her father died too
She'd been to the desert
That all happened
We nodded as we said goodbye
And considered a second date
I've seen her since
One time
Across the street
By accident

It's a sign
This determined lack of hesitation
This jumping into a life
I've learned
The closest I can get
To peace, to stillness
Is in the water
I should have been baptized
Even if I didn't believe
It would have felt like love

I took her to the water
The water's all I want

Did I really just say
"It's a sign"?
I've never mentioned signs before
All I say is everything else
All I want is to look into eyes
That look into mine
All I want to do is see the movement
And return to stillness
Of those eyes

I can't explain
In words because words
Are moving trains
I say this with no hesitation:
You've got to move even if you're shaking

May 2, 2007