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Reaching
to describe the strange beauty in an everyday and somewhat irresponsible act:

Cigarette sparks thrown
Scatter in the rear mirror
Cinders on the road

-1997?

Sparks

On a sunny morning’s commute, I spy a smoking cigarette butt spinning towards the shoulder. And I imagine a similar butt some night on the way home as a glowing tracer through the air landing on the interstate as a starburst of warm orange light. Warm and lonely like you at home and me on the … Continue Reading

X

A cloudy X marks the pale blue sky
half a hand high off the horizon
Jet fumes or crossed phoenix plumes?

-1994?

Glass Chip

There is a small pebble chip in the center of my windshield. And as it catches and bends and twists the sunlight in its splintered crevasses, my thoughts climb to that ball of nuclear fusion that powers this local sparkle. If the sun is really just an amalgamation of cosmic dust and molecules, if the … Continue Reading

Taillights

Taillights and street lamps reflected in a wet roadway
The street lamps fade behind me
But the taillights are never distant
Feb.1993

Bluegrass storm
Storm clouds on the horizon
Tree leaves turn anxiously in the wind
The smell of rain in the air

The banshee wail of the wind
Becomes the low moan of a lone saxophone

Raindrops on a tin roof and running down the spout
Fade to the beat of a jazz drummer

-May 1992, driving across the Bluegrass Parkway

Window
Under the Overpass,
On the Offramp
Across the Interstate I drive…
Over the dashboard, Through the window

12/31/91
(I’m sure this had to be written in close proximity to a Trout Fishing in America show)

Sunrise
Driving over the fringe of Ponchatrain
past the cypress and the pines
I head into the false sunrise
of the city of New Orleans

12/18/91

Peppers
Thoughts pass like ships in the night
Across the lonely ocean of my mind
Idea laden cargo vessels
Full of premonitions and presumptions

passing through BFE on the way home from Chili Peppers N.O. concert, 1991
(also significant, I believe this show was my only successful attempt at crowd surfing + I bought a book of limericks for Dad’s Christmas present in Baton Rouge)

Morning comes…
The moon is so low, it’s depressed
I think I’ll have a hi-ball

The Moon is so low it’s depressed
This celestial circle sinks in the west
It puts on a dusty orange coat
And goes to hide in the still black horizon
Where old lovers and spent nights go to die

Nov., 91