A distance more or less

There is no road without a destination,

For on the track of no approach to end

Adorned in signs for traveling instruction,

That has not even slight a curve or bend.

Yet distance grows and shortens by the length

Dependent on the method which it's measured,

Instead of being led by what's the horses strength

Or how the trek from point to point is leisured.

The waxing lights that skate around the asphalt

Rise higher with each mile left behind,

Anticipating feet ahead to halt

Where nowhere is antithesized in kind;

Not place or stop but somewhere to confide

Another pair of legs to walk alongside.

The River's Hold

The river curls
A trembling glow upon her surface
She wraps around the city as a smile

The river's warm
And charitable in her relief
Of shivering replaced by numb desire

The river holds my cheek
And gives me all the strength to be
Adrift forever in her wake

The river's deep
Reveals to me her darkest keeps
The further way we get from light

Guest Poet: Hurricane Isaac -- Cowboy Coffee

Most of the water came from the sink
A mockery of the apron to the jeans and T-shirt
It was sworn to protect
The shoes: dull leather spreading
From toe to-- he(a)el

Stand down

Roll a cigarette and lean
Against the door post

Soups on
An herbal mash of leaves and twigs
From whatever trees were up the street
Twelve or so blocks down

Will the water leave welts
Or red in the shape of the hand of a palm
And though it’s only slightly less wet inside
The velocity in which its propelled
Is significantly divergent

Ok, maybe you can stop the world
From going about its business
And watch the faces through the windows
Recall from memory how they used to smile
Used to frown
Used to tremble lips with nostrils flared

And eyebrows furrowed bridged and closed
With eyes that never missed
The opportunity to surprise

Not like now how they leveled forward
In a trance
Never moving
From their stalking glance

Never minding
What they saw

Never closing
Never flawed

It’s just business, after all
And you can’t stop business
From going about the world

And passing promissory notes
For broken promises

Shoot from the hip, cowboy

Sit around the fire
There are cowboy things to talk about
And these are cowboy times
And there is plenty
Of cowboy coffee

Guest poet: Hurricane Isaac -- Pull

The stranger went all through the house
And turned off every light
Even those in use
His excuse: He was trying to sleep
He was well into the next morning

 From inside they still hollered and bustled
Trying to take home the end of last night
The unreasonableness of each at their plight

 But prodigal or not the sun returned
And the house became flat and tepid
Those still within growled and deflated

 It was actually the sun’s fifth attempt
And each time they boiled

 Unnecessary rage, perhaps
But they couldn’t help how they felt
Any more than the elasticity of the cypress trees
Granted them just one more dance

 Look, the horizon is vertical now
There’s no sense in arguing with the dynamics
Of polar skews
When there’s no other good reason
That water would fall from
Just down the street

 There’d be no condensation if it weren’t cold to begin with
The elements at each other, they tug

 Pull

 Look, just pull on it

 There’s tension now

 They’s sick, they’re tired
They’re not sleeping much these days

 Try to unwind them
Only to see what they’re made of

 Pull

 Not too hard now

 Even a slight tug
Will create tension

 Now open your eyes and
See what you’ve done

 It’s OK
Turn the lights off if you

 Need your sleep