A Going Crazy Two

headlights-fsSitting here reading
It’s been two pages
And I don’t remember a word

I am with you
As if walking
As if I’ve said all I can say
As if I love you
As if that’s not enough
Not anymore
I don’t know what you want me to say
I don’t know how to go back and fix
Whatever it is I broke
I don’t really know
But you expect me to
Understand you don’t see
How a man’s head can be cement
How his ears can be bunged
How his heart might not and
Wonder why beat in unison
In this case yours

Haven’t I been paying
Enough attention to you
I haven’t wanted to do
Enough of what you do
Though the ground you
Walk on is always a surprise


I have.
I have!
I have two and two
A going crazy two to

Sitting here I would
Desperately not knowing
The difference between two
Better than I have to
Short of being

Is that what you want?
I ask
You say

But it is
Isn’t it
You want me to be two
To give up the one
And only for the only one
You want whatever I
Should know it is

Understanding, though…
Isn’t that a truck in the middle
Of a dark, rainy, dreary night
Without headlights around a curve
As if the light of the moon is
Enough is never enough
And more than enough is what
Will wear the brakes if the hill
Is steeper than the dark is
Too much for the moon.

You don’t understand
And that’s what I’ve been
Saying I don’t either
As if it should have meaning
Enough to be left
But then, it’s raining
And it always has been

A Going Crazy Two

Pulling Beauty From

The tolerant hairstyle is recentWindow_Reflection
hiding some of her frumpiness
but it does some justice to
this grumpy mean-cold woman
who mumbles distant curses

A gone dry long ago river
smiling she admires herself
in the grocery store window
roughly removing a stray hair
as she approves of the look

With wrinkles like trenches
protecting her facade from war
a visage seen before bleakly
staring back from a gun turret

Waiting for something to move
as if to feed on a life
like a bitter soldier, unaware
as she takes but never gives

The canyon of her soul
echoes the wail of sorrow
the groan of dying tree
but for this one moment
looking back from the glass
she is a smiling touch of beauty

Pulling Beauty From

After the Little Boats

on a creekwas a creek ran behind my house
when I was nine just the thought
excited me to see and play in it
with sticks and boards to race

like boats crossing oceans
if oceans had rocks and ran but
six inches deep or a foot when
rained swarmed over its banks

to run full speed feet tiptoeing
against two or three stones
placed with great care by
a Mother Nature who knew

it was thrilling it was dangerous
it was sky diving across water
it was a raging roller coaster
it was a mad skill not to fall

too often we walked home
our feet squeaking every step
especially after a storm passed
but that was the most fun

Yesterday I found that creek
on Google Maps. The house is a park
and a bridge makes crossing easy
like all things it has changed

The Satellite view did not show
any boys playing along the creek
but closing my eyes I can see them
running along after the little boats

After the Little Boats