Keep looking at the Preacher
Gone to Texas
sitting on my desk:
a cigarette
and shadows cast
by musculature
orange and black

I wish there were
a thousand words for love

so it wasn't always
hot or cold
"ouch" or "yeah"

and we could better
see the humor
in our crossed wires
and misplaced messages:

ecstatic or depressed
asleep or awake
sober or drunk
confident or not

the world around us moves
through our perception

Excelsior
the yellow
sword

Wasn't but a minute
before
I stopped what I was writing
and let myself feel
the neighborhood sounds,
autumn air
alive and rumbling.

Weak

How 'bout just running some hot water
over yesterday's grounds
to save me a trip to the store...