Tag Archives: TV

Quite a Bit of Confusion Concerning the Night Without You

21 Jul

In the gloaming we sit on the porch.
The ghosts of bottles reach out
capturing the last of the sun
as the ground eats it. The forest
grows dark. Twigs point like
twisted bone fingers scaring
the last of the eating birds
away.

I roll two cigarettes slowly. I
reach out towards the distant
sunset. I hand Buck one as he
looks up from his notebook-
which contains the notes of
salvation for tomorrow’s
sermon. Voices yell inside
the kitchen, or maybe it
is the TV- that blue glass
teat someone suckles on
inside.

He talks to me of water
monsters, destroyers,
white mountain veils and
light bearers as messengers
of God. I reach out and
light his cigarette, and
light mine- a peacable
burning like the sun
weighed and divided
ashes scattered in
Babylon.

I listen to the metal
laughter of my watch
holding it up to my
ear. I look through
the window spying
dead blackandwhite
people. I wonder what
secrets their shadows
hold on the otherside
of time and that
thick
glass.

Dark trees argue
against a colored
sky as bats swoop
down and down in
the gold pink
sky cloud mountains
I could climb, and
Buck punctuates his
talk of-
Zealots,
Samaritans,
a place of troops,
gifts to Jehovah,
anointed rivers,
and a man
of the dart-
with his own
clouds.

I take the ring of
my finger and
send the bottle’s
crown tumbling
down in grace down
with the remnants
of the burnt ones-
burnt faces whom
God will strengthen-
yeah that’s what
he says. And I
make notes in my
my mind of the
whispers of trees
A crow flies on
the horizon as
John the neighbor’s
dog barks- maybe
later he’ll come over
and drink the last
of the good beer.

Though if John comes
he’ll talk about working
on old engines, and his
time out at sea. I’ve
got something else on
my mind. I wish you
weren’t watching the
crows groom themselves
behind your eyes
recovering.

Buck is talking about
Mattathias Hasmoneas slaying
a fellow jew attempting
a pagan sacrifice at the
altar in Modein when I
see John strolling
over with stories of
bannana boat suicides behind
his eyes.

Buck is talking
about the birds of heaven as
they shake hands. And I
say farewell to this fine
hot evening, but I am on
the verge of a bright insight
spinning my last coins and
swallowing the last of my
beer.

*Written for Poetics over at dVerse Poets Pub.

The Last Hot Summer Night

14 Sep

Late at night
I sit
drink
watch TV
and it becomes
like a Cadillac science to me
as the headlights race
to the corner of the wall.