a penniless man

drunk and exhausted,
a penniless man wanders alone,
under a white autumn moon,
dark streets grind and hum,
made with metal and rock,
for metal and rubber,
pulling and bending,
twisting and groaning,
looking out at the busy lights,
tracers of red and orange and blue,
no phone,
no TV,
no warm bath,
no kiss from a sweet heart,
she left when the money left,
a game of illusion,
monuments made of lies,
collapsed like sugar castles,
in the frigid rains,

form protects itself,
grace transcends itself,


church-goers hustle to their cars to escape the rain,

drunk and exhausted,
a penniless man dances alone under a white autumn moon.

 

inner loitering

no stance is taken,
as the dreamer hacks away,
carving and hammering,
hammering and carving,
while the city presses down,
presses the stress down,
arrogantly defining the intonation,
but still, 
the dreamer's work,
the struggle-in-itself-for-itself,
a relative of the authentic "free" type of freedom,
a bit more bottled,
but it's good,
it's real,
and scraped,
like the hands of a craftsperson,
it's rugged and rusty,
blistered eloquence,
splintered excellence,
it's glory contained between concrete lines.

about 3:20am

people watch as your argument stalls,
you can't remember what's false or true,
in a closed room,
tightly packed tension,
your laughter unleashes joy all through,
you wanna run,
but your feet are stuck in quicksand,
you slip off the edge,
and fall fast into the blue,
you have a test,
but you're lost in a maze of hallways,
you're fucking,
burning,
climbing,
crying,
dying,
catching your breath and flying,
I have the same dream too.