capture no.1

un-
straight,

(like a)

tin-can shot
at

fleet-fragileimpossibleunheralded
happiness,

both wide-eyed barrels
staring down

wanderlusted glances
through smoke-crusted tomorrownights in

some back-bay bar where
the

backup guitarist
looks a little like you

and i’m a little
in love

with possibilities, running too
many yellows

before the needle
goes to zero.

future perfect, subjunctive

fey,
incomprehensible,
i stand alone on the edge of
disaster and skip
pebbles.  just might have been
mistaken,
thought perhaps
i had a soul

mate, but i
am not who i
used to be, not yet
halfway there

jumping lightly over
the rocks at low tide i
can’t help
thinking that by
tomorrow’s
tomorrow there might be
nothing left except
ether and flame.