because while some truths lend themselves to equations, others are best described in verse

Posts tagged “richmond

On a Monday, near-West End

Under brooding thunder on an early May night
lonely men sit outside the B&N
waiting for company, or God, to get right.

Soccer moms pause and pass at the light;
lonely men look up, then look down again,
their eyes breeding thunder on an early May night.

Longing just for a glance, a bite,
salvation from the fate of lonely men,
a little company, or God, to get right,

late benediction, some mother to say it’s alright, 
they roam parking lot neon in search of amen
under promise of thunder on a quiet May night.

Hard bench, hard hands, back hunched, mouth tight:
mothers’ sons lost searching for some little sin,
for company, or God. To get right,

to get home, whole, welcome, contrite,
wanting someone to wonder where you’ve been
when there’s threat of thunder on an early May night;
you’re waiting for company. Or God to get right. 



Pipeline, Verse 52

IMG_0897

Saturday morning.
The roar of the rapids as loud as the drizzle is soft.
Wanderers in slickers flick past,
fingers numb, barely looking.
Oh but you can see them,
the Great Blues, hopping
lonesomely from stone to stone
amid the rush of white water,
nests cold and dizzying and far.
Overhead, there is no rumble.
The tracks stand sad sentinel, drip
down to the worn pages
where Walt marks his yawp,
there, under the trestles,
above the river and the wastewater and the burnt-
out campfires, unrivaled in the rain.


the loneliness of train whistles

tracks over Mayo
the loneliness of train whistles
has been known
to keep us up at night.

when there is moon,
we play hopscotch
on  old sidewalks

with chalked silhouettes
of desire. when there is not,
we walk white-footed the rails

by the river, counting
darks between shadows
until the sun

comes and grows and
our backs bend too heavy
so we turn them

from the creosote-soaked
tang of the city
to dig holes in dry dirt,

filling them up
with all the weight
of emptiness.