Cherri

augusts call...the heat layered
humidity dripping down
the tank..porcelain glistening
licked with water
Window over looking the slanted
street...the baked cresote old poles
the street lamp that casts its glow
upward past nine
A river throwing light
full of life in the gentle winds
We walked across the briidge
towards the mill
hand in hand
when we were kids

when we were innocent
unburned by the fires
of the elders
Haze of liqour and cigarette
smoke...boisterous laughter
and dark shadows lit
with the brilliant light
the kindness that was not
kind...not in my mind

Cherri

the tender light
the dusty carpets
smelling of wood oil
old wax...damp plaster
Incense and a poster
of a tiger

A grandfather fought
in Laos..
lives in L.A.
sends her packages
soothing winds
Citric Acid
and smokes
the best Filters he
says

she saves the
pure white slender
sticks for me
broken necked
packs
like missing dreams
bus station flavor
Octane and emptiness
Longing and desire

her favourite slender
belt with tiny buckle
on her angel ghost
arm shes all bones
Once a trauma nurse
north east
the shadows over took
her
I found her again
we dropped anchor
in the brick town
the textile empires
the turning oaks
golden
Snows already falling
smokey mountains

I was always used too
the zippos...
But I Love the crisp woosh
of the butane
Tucks her hair behind her
ear...chemistry course
a sadness etched into her
too young face..Those
blue eyes are the color
of a sky thats never
seen the sun
Not the sun with warmth
no daisies in her fields
Her pupils are black
before we even just
tooted this shit
Tar black
like nightmares
a blank screen
behind the glass tube

flicker of white static
analog gone digital

bites her lip...the fire
simmers
the wick purifies
Bingo!

an ash falls on a wooden
dragon holder
the smoke rises
like a camp fire in a valley

cinch...the wait for it
look...Im good at this..
I dont even bruise
"Jesus U got good hands"
plunger sets against
the steel and I draw
its sting out

moment of the pinch
elbow up..
unclasp
lean back in the battered
leather old recliner
dirty feet up

BOBS BOWL T shirt
we go there...glow bowl
on schrooms its hilarious
everyone else is high
on booze...the smell
of the liqour trips us

havent been in a month

she draws in air
sweet angel mouth
petite morte

freedom

I drink straight from
the bottle
hold down the fort
find a disc

INTERPOL

she shouldnt listen to
this...clean and dark
I pace
the darkness behind
the mill...the water
escaping like a spill
Prop a chair against
the knob

pull my pops old service
revolver out...slip it
under the pillow of
the couch

they gave it too me after
his only son
an offering
like they didnt know

I sit and rock...knees up
we are both starving
I can trace the shoulder
blades and spine
hips bones
Her long cindrella hair
covers all of that
"Rapunzel"
her hands cupping
my beard
knocking my horn rims
loose

in this light
the dusting of freckles
show

the mill whistle blows
the television crackles
the night slips
in through a window
like a thief...

..