Morning Report

When Sunday brings this

To my skin, to these walls

I know what I missed

One second, one look

I passed it by, went her way

Of all my mistakes

What I didn't know

The story, the tilling land

The sound in the room

Is what brings Sunday

The tug of her memory 

Next time I'll be there

23

Angel Guardian

On my desk, the tin cross

I'm clean once again

And the TV flick

The hum of this empty room

I chew on these pills

Just one more, just two

For those things I never knew

I rethink the day

Claim the load, the blame

The long gone and dusty name

I love you, I do

Piles

And those backyard poems

Buried like crickets and girls

Make the dirt my home

Dust

I came here with the dust

With the soon-to-be gambler,

the dancer

The married couple 

on their last stand

I made it crawling 

through cactus thorns

Old girlfriends

and dead scorpions

I ordered a beer

and then another

I heard cards smack

and coins drop

I heard good things,

Devil speak

I turned around: there she was

I came here to kiss 

those pink lights

Snapping out a cheap 

magnified dream

Women

Song

Whiskey

The voices said

So, I tried all three

Had a smoke

Stumbled home and fell asleep