tuesday, april 15

rm ./*
vim 15

and start fresh

weeks go by
scatter moments in my memory
like sparks burn holes in paper

we walk circles in a parking lot
at sunset in front of the stadium
brick underfoot, breathing in all
the coming chill of one last snow

guitars peal and ring
clatter crash and soar

i wake and outside
new leaves uncurl on the tree
diesel smoke hovers
up from some four-hundred miles south

my feet slide into the dry leather
of worn sandals waiting by the bed;
ball thwaps into the glove
my hand numbs instantly;
plectrum hits the strings just right
for two seconds that ringing sound is mine