The World She Keeps

Under the last bone of her finger was where the town was hidden. It was a small world hidden from the masses. Rooftops wires and pine cones kept touching the sides of the tin home. She tried to keep things in order but either the rain or wind seemed to always destroy her progress.
As the masses walked by you could see her crouching in the back of the bus talking with the world she managed under her glove.

Leaving the Blue House

We once owned a home. Blue cedar planks with white shutters. The basement was limestone painted a brilliant white. The floor a enameled grey slate. Trees lined the edge of the property that overlooked the sea. We once owned a home that sat on a hill.
Mother forgot her pill.
Father loaded the truck. No more than a half hour fuss. We once owned a home. Now we can see it as we pass. Time has feet that will walk up the stairs. Mother said she no longer cares.

How To Speak

With scissors. With wire and gauze. With pencils. With pen. With anger. With love. With plates. With trees. With guns. With speakers. With lies. With broken ships. With bottles. With time. With a single finger. With a dime.

Bitter Roots

Where the paint begins to dry is where they decided to look.
Behind the refrigerator in the corner that is stained from years of oxidation is where they began the story. Lead written words and lipstick drawings. The stopwatch is running, the chicken is in the oven.
Where should we begin was the first question of the visitors. The next was who should leave first. They grouped around the table during the dead of winter.
One is in the kitchen reading from the wall.
One translates and documents the unfolding story onto a roll of arches rag paper.
After time the translation begins to reveal itself. In time what was lost will begin the new narrative.

Rubber Ducks

The trees have finally reached the second story of the old colonial. Blue crisp skies rustle through the last leaves of October. Lemonade is chilling next to the vodka. The bath is filled with warm water. The house on the hill has black smoke rolling out of the windows.
She left the keys on the mantle.
The car is down the river.
Patches of wire hide beneath the porch.

Snow

When would you like to visit? The pond is frozen.
Christmas trees are cut and being stacked on trucks. Have you listened to the message.
The family is having orange duck. It's ten below zero. When should I expect you?
Grandma can't find the nut cracker and there is a short in the lights that are wrapped around the chimney. Leave the sweater grandpa turned up the heat.

Twine

Where is the kite? Summer breeze makes it's way to the river. The toddler is drawing flowers on paper bags. The railroad is working overtime.
Ants surround the sandwich as the kite crosses the sky.

The basement is cold.

The basement is cold. There is an inch of water waiting to freeze. Baby bunnies are strung up behind the house on the hill. Pain fills the house.
The basement is cold.
Red leaves have turned to brown. Linen and sawdust fills the work rooms. Four families have planned a vacation.
The basement is cold.

Roses are Red

Three houses overlook the Pacific. The cliff falls off from the edge of the lawn to black rocks. Chris has been lost on pch for over an hour.
The party has started without him. Jenny is drinking cranberry and vodka.
Chris watches the sun dip below the coast and brings his phone to his ear.
His phone rings.
Jenny's phone rings. The ocean slows with the tide change. Air cools with the sun getting dim.
Jenny?
Chris?
I forgot the address.
Where are you?
The phone cuts out. The sun is down.
Jenny finishes her drink and and watches the waves dissipate into the night.

Where the Corners Meet

The paint is intended to seal the cracks and toxins from spreading into the room.
Plastic and tape seal the back rooms.
September breezes push the pollen over the kitchen table.
Two teenagers stand in the front waiting room to see the car pull to the curb. Twigs and knives. Chalk and dimes.
Bottles tilt and are handed around the porch.
Phones spread the stories.
The fire pit is kept burning deep into night.

The Sea is Rising

Plaster is a poor excuse for a building material.
Time is cousins with moisture and temperature.
An item lost is never lost just stuffed in another box.
Fiber and wood wound together to make conversations.
Cupcakes are cooling.
The calendar is getting filled.
The sea is rising.

What You Need To Know

The bus carried them thru upstate New York to a patch of earth just feet from the Hudson river. None of them knew who sent the email but the contents was compelling enough to convince 36 strangers to arrive on 09/11/01. Their instructions were simple.
Arrive at location by 8:32am.
Look up.

Pine Wall

I am sleeping but I see something just out of reach. It is a wall made of unfinished pine. It is suspended from the house jousts and hovers six inches off the basement floor.
I see scraps of card stock, paper, and transparent rice papers attached to the wall. I see gently emerging from the fields of white, what appears to be black entanglements of power lines or bird nests.
I move in my sleep but one by ones and insulation is piled in front of the wall. The wind wakes me. The basement is empty. I can't find the pine wall.

Sheets and Sticks

The wind is finding it's way into the corners. Frost is building on the slides. Mary is lost. The black sedan is circling the neighborhood. I remember the field's shape. Four trees were grouped like toddlers around a dead bird. Rain has begun to turn to ice. Mary was wearing a yellow raincoat. The towers are buzzing. The sedan is surrounded by a sea of pulsating lights. The wind is picking up. They are on the phone filling the air. The snow begins to take hold.

Instructions

There is a need to tell who might be listening. The horizon is patches of amber straw and evergreen brush. They are waiting to listen to what is being planned. They will be on the edge of the farm just down from the lake.
The matches are being lined up on the kitchen table.
They must listen.
Jars, ropes, bees and bails of hay are loaded into the barn.
The distant fields roll gently out the passenger window. The world is covered with grey skies. The rain slowly begins to touch the lake as they wait in time and listen for instructions.

Rempker Park

Clouds reflect in steel. Towers line the parameter of the park. Thousands of strangers walk around the grounds looking for teeth and broken finger nails. The river has washed up the losses of northern cities.
The crowd waits for direction of what to do when what is need is found.

Tanya & Kim

It was always the two of them. Blisters and sun. Smoke and park benches. Homecoming, prom, spring break...they were together they were one.
Time would stop to take notice of these most popular friends as they crossed the quad. The trees seemed to gently melt into the autumn sky. The boys casually line up against the brick wall to watch the two move thru space. Yellow buses arrive and circle the entrance of the school.
They hold hands. Jeans glide up treaded stairs and disappear behind doors signaling the end of the day.

What was, what is.

There was a small crease in his suite that was put there intentionally. Everything was planned studied and calculating. A question wasn't asked without him having an idea of an answer. The dinner table was set according to a grid and the help were lined up exactly four inches from the wall. Nothing was left to chance or out of place. Tonight would be perfect.
She had forgotten about the evening and dressed up for the occasion by adding a little lipstick to the covering she first put on in the morning.
She added a scarf to keep up appearances.
Nothing needed to be anywhere, work was done the world was on hold until the part began. Nothing needed to be put together what was…was.

My Brain Six

My brain is a blanket. My brain is a stove. My brain has weeks of food stock piled. My brain is a basement. My brain is linen. My brain sinks below the surface. My brain washes fields of dirt. My brain has cracked tile. My brain is winter winds. My brain is lighted lamps. My brain is frosted bars. My brain sifts through rusted cars.

Where Memory and importance Meet

I wanted to talk with who was in charge but I couldn't find the time. The fa
Ily kept me tied to a escalator and the air was growing thin. Fighter planes have the pilots train in extreme conditions. Breakfast is cold. The summer house is border up. I hate how once clear things are now lost and mischapen. Play clay editorials. Silicon Hands. Phones and napkins. The focus is lost on the couple across the bar. The drinks only hint at what the night will be...

Danny

Butter rolls and jams were his favorite food. One particular week this was all he ate for a week aside from the morning cup of coffe and the nightcap tumbler of scotch. The rest of his time was spent walking around the lake reading the New York Times. When I say the rest of the time I mean exactly that day all day until the sun went down Danny was his name would read and walk. At night I assume he slept but I don't know exactly what happened with Danny after sunset. Now this sounds like a tall tale but I assure you as all that is holy and evil Danny was a walker an obsessive walker. I need to google what condition he had and if he is a rare case. As for me I don't particularly like walking so I think I am in the clear.

Brain Five

My brain is walking a tight rope above streets of marbles. My brain is located between Omaha and Sicily. My brain speaks to empty rooms. My brain is cedar planks in upstate New York. My brain is marimba. My brain drinks after five. My brain waits for direction. My brain is temporary. My brain leave coins on tables. My brain is anger and spice few if anything nice.

Dumb Questions

Winter is waiting for unsuspecting tourists. Apples are rotting at the foot of trees. The lawn is dormant. The neighbors talk but never listen. Dispatch is waiting for a call with directions to the site. Three drivers sit at the counter and sip coffee. Traffic slows to a crawl as it turns of the interstate.
Outside the window a woman is on the phone. She is smiling as she talks.
In front of me I have written three words on my napkin.

You.Will.Know.

Dumb Questions

Winter is waiting for unsuspecting tourists. Apples are rotting at the foot of trees. The lawn is dormant. The neighbors talk but never listen. Dispatch is waiting for a call with directions to the site. Three drivers sit at the counter and sip coffee. Traffic slows to a crawl as it turns of the interstate.
Outside the window a woman is on the phone. She is smiling as she talks.
In front of me I have written three words on my napkin.

You.Will.Know.

Those Who Watch

The alleys are being watched by the ones that are in the corners and behind your chairs. Roasted chickens with sides of potatoes and greens. Sunday dinner. Heads are bowed. They watch. Near the wall paper they breath and wait for eyes that can see them.
The sun is setting the leaves are falling. Sit and breath. Wait to hear them beneath the boards and around edge of the dining room to the basement.
The alleys appear empty while the basements are full. Twisted silhouettes of branches hover in front of street lights.
The grand piano is playing. They stand around the table as the heads are bowed. They hover below the feet under the table and brush against skin.
They wait. The last words are spoken. The bottle is opened. The chicken is carved.
They wait for the ones among us to join the ones that are watching.

The Blood is in the Park

The blood Ran Cold

Wishing that the sun would dry my shoes.
You see it was a long night. I did more last night then some people do in a lifetime. Actually strike that. erase and amend. I know i did more last night then most will ever do.
Period. Its morning and I am having my favorite breakfast. a pouched egg . rye toast .. orange marmalade and a fresh cup of pressed organic sumatra coffee. a splash of organic half and half.
Fresh squeezed valencia orange juice and npr in the background. When time permits I have a fire in the Benjamin Franklin stove and on this morning as a treat I have the fire burning.
Rex my trusted mutt will get a long walk after breakfast but for the moment I get to sit and look over the back yard and relive the night before. This particular morning I notice a pain in my left shoulder. I looked down to see some blood coming thru my cotton shirt. Maybe the night wasn't as seamless as i initially thought. In the mirror I can see the bandage holding my shoulder together was saturated with blood. something must have gone wrong..but I cant remember what could... I decided to put on my shoes.. only half dried to check on my work I did last night. i need to make sure everything is in its place...that everything has been properly cleaned.

Population 45

The water was rising to the edge of the parking lot. Trees were torn down to the west. The cars were floating past the the huddle of people making a fire on the last handicap spot above water.
The rain had finished and the world was taking an extended breath. Questions of what was left above water was the topic of the moment. 45 men,woman and children were all that was left.

List

Linoleum. Brick. Plastic. Oak. Soda. Lemon. Fireworks. Blood. Black. Blue. Year. Nip. Needle. Spoon. Race. Run. We. Power. Bark. Bristol. Tire. Gold. Silver. Dust. Frost. Love. Hate. Bake. Tea. Morning. Cloud. Hands. Breakfast. Soup. Wine. Bagel. Coffee. Sister. Little. Elm. Snake. Tiger. Teeth. Claws. Bats. Roofs. Wires. Sea. Ocean. Yellow. Planks. Ships. Bottles. Keys. Cars. Trucks. Girls. Boys. Prince. Stadium. Orange. Strawberries. Fish. Fields. Limes. Leaders. Lost. Random. Hide. Bike. Streamer. Steam. Chance. Cold. Winter. Icy. Plane. Tiger. Basement. Base. Bass. Chicken. Rope. Soap. Minty. Old. Spice. Texture. Saw. Hot tub. Foam. Napkin. Filter. Ridge. Four. Soak. Dishes. Steel. Sparks. Customs. Gear. Flank. Jets. End. Never. Brain. Distance. Egg. Never. Brain. Distance. Egg. Regain. Find. Discover. Porch. South. North. West. Joe. Years. Michael. Beets. Time. Automatic. Video. Despite. Cousins. Family. Father. Mother. Sister. Brother. Blanket. Redwoods. Amy. Coast. Remember. Girls. Love.

Lines

A line has been drawn in the sand. A line is running down the drain. Rooftops are covered in lines of power lines. Lines on the face. Lines on tables. Lines on fields. Don't leave me behind enemy lines. Just get in line and wait your turn like the one before and after you in line.

Have and have Nots

They line up and wait to be walked through the maze of plywood and artificial snow. Sunshine hides the depression of the late wandering breaths as their heartbeats stumbling down broadway. The rage is thick as molasses. We sit at a counter and share nicotine. Blankets are wrapped around the feet to keep the head warm. Blue pens draw out the plans of lawyers, doctors, and dancers. Sketches of plans cover the walls of corner stores and basement studios. The cold is beginning to take hold and the cellophane is rolled down the sidewalk. The safe are beginning to see a new winter is taking hold with no plans for a thaw.

Dyer Woods

Trees line the edge of the field concealing a dark world that makes a child's imagination itch. Red bags stacked and pressed into a peach farmers truck ambles down the one dirt road toward the black of the forrest. The two young ones are watching from a safe place in the high grass. They wait for the black birds to circle away so they can run hand in hand to the back of the truck just before it disappears into the dense wood. They climb into the bags and huddle deep into the center of the pile. The smell of decaying earth and moist grass fills their noses. They lie and wait for their dreams to end.

Calendar

June. The yard is overgrown with flowers.
October. The air smells of the neighbors fireplace.
May. Boats are buried under oceans of sand.
December. Time is stacked like coins on fathers work bench.
July. Amber bottles are scattered on the sheds floor.
March. Rain fills the cup holders in the car.
January. Ice fills the basement.
September. Bleach pools on the floor.
November. Twigs built the house.

What he Needs to Begin

Rows of corn husks were stacked in the kitchen. Kids circled the dinner table waiting for the end of the harvest. Miles of notes were written on scrapped paper bags. Matches and knives. Thesis papers and bottles of scotch. The farmers stand at the front of the house and wait for the sun to lower behind the horizon. They ring a triangle. Family is ready for the ritual. With the sun down the family is free to speak. Plans are being made as the mothers tend to the toddlers. The teenagers are seen going to the barn to bring the farmers what he needs to begin the ritual.

My Brain Four

My brain is wire mesh. My brain is a lemon stand. My brain rolls down gravel hills. My brain is a bonfire. My brain leaks antifreeze. My brain hovers above cedar
planks. My brain writes on graph paper. My brain is falling. My brain travels on railroads across the plains. My brain remembers and forgets. My brain eats rolls and soup.

Tell you how it Will Be.

Broken tiles and melting trays of chocolate filled the kitchen. He was trying to make sense of the fight he just had with his mother.
The curtains were stained with nicotine and the faucet leaked.
Mother never really understood him.
Dinner would never be made at this rate.
Rain would only fill the cup never the pool.
Mother would burn down houses, choke puppies, and sell fireworks to toddlers but never would a meal be presented before it's time.
Never.
Two crooked fingers wave a pall mall across the
Kitchen.
The word never from her lips. Never. Then for good measure she grabs the scotch from the cabinet and walks out to the back yard. A trail of smoke trailing behind her head.

A Time Sensitive Request

Small hands are washing the dishes. Clouds float over frozen puddles along Central Ave. There is no time. A small speaker rattles some pop radio station.
Neil is on the phone as the last customers leave the diner. The sun is going behind the building as the street lights fill the sidewalk with a sick amber light.
Snow is on the way and Neil knows he is running out of time.
For now the weather forecast threatens a night of snow that would make all the streets impassable. Neil watches the first flakes of snow float across the stores window as he hangs up the receiver. He sits and takes the last sip from his cup. Time is running out. People are meandering outside as if the signals were getting scrambled from the hive. Some people file into the next door store for milk and needed rations to wait out the storm others just walk by the window watching the beginning of the snow. Neil makes a note on his napkin.
Remind me dear what I might need tonight- my head is empty like my heart-there is only so many breaths I can take-there just isn't enough time to tell you everything so let me just say- I won't forget the milk.

Catering Truck Lost Off Coast

Magic plates of hash browns. Soft serve. Lemon julius.
Four hours of the ocean washing over water logged bodies.

The wheels on the truck go round and round.

Tea Cups of Sand

He ran until his lungs were moments from bursting. Through alleys up past Lincoln Ave to the top of Signal Hill. Up the water tower ladder c to the
edge of the steel container.
From the tower he couldn't see the sky or the ground. His memory was fading and a warmth washed over his face. Trees and barren seas of sand flashed before him as he closed his eyes. Then a silence for what seemed like lifetimes took hold and he began to fall.

2'x3'

For years he would go to the corner of Marina and Venice blvd with his 2'x3' sheet of plywood and nails to make things. Most days he would just hammer nails into his plywood. Some days he would bring a big roll of twine in addition to his nails and plywood. On these days he would tie the twine to each nail and pull it tight until it could reach a parking meter post, bike rack stand or a parked handle of a car. One day I went over to him as he was hammering a nail and asked what he was doing. He looked up and said, "I am hammering a nail." I then asked if he had twine that day. He looked up again with a little smile and said,"sorry no, today is tape day."

Micheal sat on the edge of his bed and waited for the future. He found he spent a great deal of time in the present waiting for a future moment to come into being.
Micheal was the creator of these moments, his gathering thoughts would solidify into realities.
This was part of the miracle.
He wondered briefly which path this future would take, how the pieces of each event would click into place completing the reality. Over this he had no control.
Micheal felt the time shift and knew the process had begun. He hoped it wouldn't hurt.

Tinker Town

Rooftops clouds and flashes of lightning fill the minds of children. The pools have been drained the chalk has been washed away. A dog is barking the neighbor is pouring gasoline over his couch. The blood is washed from the cutting board. In another time none of this is of any consequence, but for tonight in this small town it is everything.

Balloons

Balloons are tied to the branches of the oak out back. Wind chimes send a reminder that the air is flowing over the plains. Dirt is a deep brown, almost a black. The diner in town opens at 4am to feed the truckers and farmers. Justin is watching the balloons sway in the breeze as the early light begins to fill the sky. The party has ended all that remain is the balloons. Tara waits in the car letting the engine idle as Justin takes a last swig from his bottle. Tara yells from the car " hey anytime, pancakes are on!" Justin gives a little smile at the waving balloons and says under his breath, " so that's what a year feels like. "

The Empty House

I made drawings. I guess it was something to do while the pain weighed on me. The drawings filled the time. Mostly I drew small scenes of farm houses or views of the Pacific. This would calm me. I would use only a number two pencil. Never an eraser. I hated the crumbly pink stuff left behind. I started in 1979 on May 3. I remember I wasn't doing anything of particular importance on that day. I sat down on the dining room floor and started with a single blade of grass in the lowest corner, just below the wall outlet. It took a year to cover the first room. Every square inch was filled with a flowing tapestry of scenes from my memory. The more I drew the lighter I felt. Every spare moment I spent drawing on ever surface of the house, until after ten years every last inch was filled. On that day I remember stepping away from the wall into the middle of the living room.

With nowhere left to draw I sat and waited for the house to grow dark.

My Brain Three

My brain filters water. My brain is a river that leads to the gulf. My brain is toast. My brain hovers over paved roads. My brain breaths dust and mold. My brain speaks. My brain follows clouds over the desert. My brain sits on the bottom of pools. My brain lost it's location. My brain is blue and green. . My brain is wrapped in wires. My brain invites families to dinner. My brain is drawing blue prints. My brain suffers from neglect. My brain is quiet. My brain makes lists and outlines chairs with indian ink. My brain wakes to start over.

It started on the Corner

Answer the question. No one saw where the cars collided. No one knows who was driving, all we need to know is what time did you enter the corner store.
The note pad is empty. The camera is off. A small grey line of smoke rises from the ashtray. The room has two figures in the corners. My interrogator is by the table and mic.
Just answer the question. Forget the sirens or the three bodies wrapped and carried away.
They wait as I search my memory. They watch my reactions. Then they ask me about Mae. The figure by the table drops a picture of Mae outside the store. I react and know only now what they already know and what they are trying to discover. The tape recorder is switched on.
Just answer the question.

Lost in Fields

The air was stale from hours of driving with the windows up. On the horizon the farm house floated into view. The sun was dying behind the chimney and the clouds circled the roof.
It was anger that spilled over the kitchen table. Years of half truths and raised fists. Corn fields provided no sense of direction or comfort. Time was collecting what it was owed and the fear set camp in each of our brains.
Sodium vapor lamps popped on as a uneasy silence strangled the kitchen.

Tonight all of this was going to end.

Only you know

White hills. Orange cones. Blue skies. Yellow teeth. Green jackets.
Remind me of the questions that were asked. My head hurts and I am having trouble concentrating. This room is cold and your coffee isn't helping. No. I could't see I was on the ground. I heard voices but couldn't make out what was being said. No. I told you I don't know...
Red ships. Black tea. White walls.
The recorder wheels slowly turn around repeating a voice reciting colors and things in a sustained loop.
I need to sleep you must let me sleep.

Novel

Black clouds from burning tires filled the sky. Planks, tape and wires held up the shed that Jim had made during better days. He remember what she said before she turned and walked toward the train. She was yelling and throwing papers up In the air. The yard was littered with the last breaths of her book. Jim was burning the remains. She had always been perfect. She always knew what and when to say something. Until, that day she had always had the final word.

Homecoming

Children float through alleys and backyards. The tigers are waiting for a free meal. The attic is filled with tea sets. I have trouble breathing the basements air. They say the wind is picking up and the shelter is being used for firewood. Animals talk with the kids. Over the loud speaker they are playing american top forty. My head is beginning to get cloudy. Kids wear black to glide undetected. Pom poms and pills create pretty color assortments. I am beginning to loose my bearings. Bonfires, were never a good idea.

Murray & Mary

Spirits mix with matches to burn down the shed. Murray owned the hardware store and Mary ran the salon. Murray and Mary lived a simple life but as plain as a puddle or as deep as a lake this relationship from the outside seemed for all reasonable observations normal. So, when the fire started the people of the town never suspected what Murray and Mary had been doing late night on their farm.

What I choose to Forget.

The clouds reflect in the sea. The steamship is rolling from the island toward the sun. Three figures are lined up across the stern. There is an orange rope around their necks trailing off into the water. Something is pulling the rope. The three fall down, off and below the surface.

Trees grow from the oceans floor. The three mix with vegetation and are lost and forgotten.

Suggestions

The sun is beginning to break through heavy storm clouds. PCH is glistening from earlier heavy rains. Past the highway we see a rough ocean, a new morning on the west coast.

Confession

The house has never been insulated.
Your neighbor doesn't know your name.
Yesterday the people running the town decided to move your house over night, twenty miles out of town.
Your mother never wanted you and the bedrooms mural painting you looked up at every was intended for another kid.
Your dreams are simply dreams that are as attainable as the thing you forgot yesterday or denied today.

My Brain Two

My brain is wired. My brain hunts north of pelham. My brain washes tables. My brain is a lemon. My brain is oak planks. My brain is surrounded by flowers. My brain is suspended on sticks. My brain wishes. My brain is taped to shag carpet. My brain has transistors and spray paint. My brain is wrapped in flags. My brain burns blue. My brain misses it's childhood. My brain floats over placid fields of green.

Winter

The fence is made of small hands. Fingers wrap around each other like thorns to the edge of the cliff, to the side of a cloud. The nails dig in and tear at the roots of trees. They gnaw at the sides of the cliff as they perch high above the pacific.
Inside, the family hides from what is outside the hands. Worn cedar planks fight off the wind and rain. The family is afraid of anything and everything. As the sun sets the family take time
to sit at the kitchen table. The father extends his hands to his wife and little one creating a circle around the table. The wind is calming down and the ocean rests. Today what is not understood is in another far off land.

Painful

Brick by brick, the roof didn't fit. The hole is the sky. Black seeds lined in perfect rows. The people stood in kiddie pools waiting for the lightning. Backyards are overgrown. Dogs fight over yogurt containers. Nails are pounded through skin. Blood is on the pins. Nine clouds lost their way.

The Five

The concrete is painted a safety orange. Farm fields surround the building. The light is growing faint. It has become difficult to breath. The front door is open so I walk in past the body propped against the wall. Five figures are lined up in front of what looks to be a counter. Behind the counter there seems to be a grill. There is another figure moving around by the grill seemingly cooking. The five figures in front of the counter are motionless. There is a terrible quiet except for the sound of something sizzling on the grill. I tried to pinch my side to determine what was real. Napkins. Coffee. Cigarette. The five just looked at me. I looked back. The five looked familiar but unrecognizable. The light outside grew fainter until the five were engulfed into a black. Silent.
Then from the back of the room sounded, "orders up. "

Regret

Blue to a soft green the sky meets the sea. The boys and girls huddle around a fire.
Small concerns become anxiety riddled obsessions.
A sip becomes a gulp. A touch a taste. A drop the sea.
I missed a chance to change the course of a conversation. Her mind. The tide.

Last Day.

The windows are open. The blue ladder is resting against the gutters. The storm is past due. The party is winding down only a few guests are left. Jim is on the roof shooting his gun again. I am trying to listen to Mary tell her same story about her daughter but keep hearing gun shots from the roof.
First the thunder then the lightning fill the sky, yard and kitchen. The thunder grows louder. I can no longer hear the gunfire. I can only hope Jim finally has finished the job.

Recollect

Recollect

The frost is finding it's way through the basement into the kitchen. Fog is decending over the mountains and winding it's way onto the porch.
I hate the rain.
She sat across from me staring at the far off mound of earth. She said it again but this time more measured like she was trying to relish the
sound of her voice. I hate the rain once more rolled out of her mouth dispersing the steam into the atmoshpere. She set down her cup and looked off at the distance.
I knew whatever we had was over. I picked up my cup and either placed it in the dishwasher or walked to my car but I honestly can't remember.

Eye Split

Shadow streets. Shadow meat. Shadow tea. Rubber bead. Tainted pool. Melting spool. Lemon sip. Shadowed lip. Melted clam. Frozen spam. Lick and die. Painted home. Good day to good night. The book is lost for tonight. Minty spit. Scratched disc.
Eye split.

Benjamin and Jeremy

The farm is where they met to plan. They couldn't plan at the office it was far too congested with people, random energies and noise.
The farm was secluded near, both the brothers and the only county within the state without a cell tower. Benjamin insisted on this as he was convinced people were watching. Jeremy respected and was slightly frightened by his brothers paranoia so he never questioned his demands.
It was on this day that the brothers after years of planning finally had a plan worth putting in motion. This day they found a simple and elegant way to change everything.
Benjamin stood up over the small briefcase and smiled at Jeremy.
The dust gently swirled around him as the sun began to set behind his head.
"they will only understand after it's too late," Benjamin said to his brother. Jeremy smiled back and confirmed the plan was in motion.

Dew fight Snow

The Silver Lake Murderers

Near the reservoir two miles from downtown there was a three story house over looking The Sunset Strip. In early October a pest control service placed a tent over the home preparing it for fumigation. Neighbors were reported as never seeing anyone enter or leave the home. The tent stayed in place until Christmas eve as far as can be determined by reports. Christmas morning a local resident was walking his dog and noticed the tent had been removed. The man was reported as saying the house looked unchanged except he notice a peculiar smell coming from the house.

This is where the story begins.

Dim

Forty pictures of my past have been taped to a hotel wall.
Yellow, amber, red and white the signals fill the width of the room.
Wait.
There is a wire extended from her arm under the bed into the bathroom. A cigarette burns on the mantle. Four bottles of jack have been smashed into the shag carpet.
I am disconnected from my feet as I walk over to the wall.

Forty pictures have been taped to the wall.

Melodrama

Bitter pills. Peeling paint. Burned toast.

The ashtray is overflowing onto the kitchen counter. The scotch is down to it's last swallow. I can hear the familiar sound rumbling slowly up to the sound of the waves outside. I know that soon the sound will grow closer and more insistent inside. It's all just a matter of time.

Wall Lake

The night light flickers as the breeze pushes through the afternoon. Years are stacked and pushed to the corners. The bottles chime in the paper bag. The sound echoes like a ringing bell through the kitchen out the window and over Wall Lake.

My Brain One

my brain began drawing plays in the sand my brain sifted through pebbled sand my brain soaked it's hands in a white oily wax my brain talked with a small man in the back of a small diner about things of small meaning my brain would sit under a spot of tea and throw snow balls at speeding cars my brain forced the old men to watch my brain is an ocean my brain tried to drown the forrest

Someday you won't Need to Know

Upstate New York.
Ropes and wires bind them to the hoods of pickup trucks and maroon pontiac firebirds.
The mountain tops are lopped off from the rolling November air.
Calm.
The town folk sip from cups.
Framed in the diner windows they watch as the offerings are inspected by the local authorities.

four one by ones

The field was grey. For as far as I could see there were round stones in different shades of grey. The sky was a pale blue.
Stacked neatly by my feet were four one by ones that had small orange tags staple to their ends. Written in small cursive on each tag read, "begin here."

I wanted to Tell You.

The rain has been falling for over an hour. The radio fills the 300 square foot apartment with voices and the random canned sound bite. Jamie is running late. I slip on my boots and notice a small drop of yellow paint has dried next to the heel. Outside the blue line screeches to a halt and falls silent. I look at the far wall and notice the sun is crawling over the shelf of pots and pans, it's around 5. Jamie is running late.

Rustle up the Trees

Early morning gives some light to the crawling critters of the night. The night rabbits become bunnies and the grey little monsters, squirrels.

The rain is beginning to let up. It's time to make the walk to the bus. Justin will be waiting for me with two cups of coffee and a bagel to share.

Render.

They only started to listen after it was too late. The train was an older model that was seldom seen by the people on Wintel Hill. It was noon and far to late to begin any conversation let alone convince the town sheriff that all was well in the sleepy town.

The River behind the House.

Water, door, tablecloth, tea. At noon they will pull up in their mint green chevy nova and let the engine idle.

the way it's always been

Every day we meet at the same 

bench at the same time. 

Often we sit side by side, sometimes we sit across from each other.

We talk. Or we don't.

These details are irrelevant to us.

And every day, after the bench we walk the parameter of the play ground until the bell rings. 

We do this for the simple reason that it is the way it's always been.    

-ks