His Kung Fu

and this ten day stint he passes
amongst friends, calls dry glass
pain is familiar but not the memory
digs an almost untrue advisor
where natural nurses inside us move
to choreography for snowblind faculties
left between family and wooden trains
coated gentry as a dickens village
in the last chair for papa bear
too late for screams; too early for stars
mistakes us for youth in our interruptions
like how blue is a color at rest
that grow the volunteer class in america
unafraid to hurt for this work

Couldn’t Have Said it Better

finish what i started this
is under negotiable backdrops
this condition of weathermen
against other people’s burdens
so unlike sacrificed rooms smoking
disappeared down nine mile canyon
those were tangled in mechanics shops
before the thought of tumbleweeds
that trip along unpaved roads
who never occur to name this picture
anyway, i have no use for my throat
as a big-bellied southern singer
to me in black and white cinema
without gods in a silent error

Rocket Science

monday starts a guilty moon
at the suggestion of misplaced
land grabs that silent partners
waiting in the mono-hued rooms
strike positions of rocket scientists
here to dream of random confessions
in childhood we are all chemists
that poets occupy spaces of our police
we are sentenced to more than life
united, we stroll streets like francophiles
when february winds corrupt winter
broken industries leave theory to the dogs
let loose to my practice of sitting
with six words to explain myself