1

Once it starts to go, it goes slow, then all at once. The glow of the sunken sun, the deepening of the rush of dusk. It’s already dark, though it’s been darker. It’s growing cold, but it’s been colder. Stiff limbed and limp dicked, the husk stumbles and staggers, what humble strength there was spent among the earth and gravel. A misused marionette, awkward and...
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1

The coffee steams and dribbles as it pours, leaving brown bubbles clustering, swirls upon the hot mirror black skin. You take it black, small sips between blowing through you know how to whistle lips. You like it bitter, something sharp to put in your mouth, something hot to burn in trickles down your throat. The sun unseen still blinds, calling its shots as it banks...
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2

The day makes way for the becoming moon, pushing through the burdensome late day blue, ever rising above. The cold wind looses whirlwinds, dead leaves dervish up the walk as the dogs rush from one emergency to the next. It’s the last cigar and the fleeting smoke and the small pleasures that aren’t any pleasure at all. The laws of you get what you give...
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1

It’s a hard road down to the bitter end. Either sudden bumps or unpatched holes to bust an axle or blow a tire, the dings and dents accumulate until all that’s left is the wreck. Eventually even the rest stops offer little respite, a pause to let the engine cool, a moment to get the sun out of your eyes. The circles paced looking for...
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3

The smoke rises, though there’s nowhere to go. The smoke rises, despite the nothing that matters. The longed for rain a series of drizzles, the known quantities proving the prophecy true. No calls, no texts, just the motion from next to next. Fireworks and frightened dogs, rats scrambling through the trees. The old bones complain and complain, as above so below. Heat rises, but the...
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2

The sky falls apart at day’s end,

between the scattered branches and

inconspicuous clouds entangling

the bitter winter blue, the cold

bite of bitter winds and

the portents of the gathering

storm lift these black wings

above the lit windows and

emptying streets. The crow on high

taking one last turn,

calling its kin towards tonight’s

roost, whatever home they make

at the last edge...
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1

Driving home towards the looming mid afternoon moon I give witness and spread invective, the lockdown traffic surprisingly lively in this ghost town suburb, the blue sky brightness belying the bite of the ice toothed wind. There’s little evidence of the holidays spread through the old apartments and the humble houses, a string of lights, a manger scene. Just the squalor of a small Bay...
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2

‘Tis the season of all the extras. ‘Tis the season of amplification. I feel too much, I go too far, I sink too deep too fast. Little things spark conflagrations, passing thoughts, fleeting glimpses. Most of the year I go crazy once a day or so. Come the holidays, it’s nearly every hour on the hour. I can’t let go though it’s all there is...
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1

The world doesn’t love you, but the world doesn’t know. It doesn’t pick the pieces it plays, it shuffles through the list. The broom on the sidewalk, the bird on the wire. The skin you were given giving in, tensile strength and the rough and ready. The rifle’s loud report in the cold dead night. The world only knows the dos and don’ts, not the...
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3

All the houses in a row,

the cluttered gutters the color of

wasted tears and worthless winter,

weighed down with gray clouds and

blue sky broken by the paths of

branches, frozen for a moment,

a portrait of intimate longing

bare limbs raised seeking

the blessings of the divine sun,

my bare knobby knees and

slack surrendered flesh exposed

despite the season I sit and...
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