friday, august 21

— wind in the streets outside the watering hole
broken glass on the 10th street overpass
plato's laughter in the coffee house
french roast refills a quarter, cigarettes and pipe tobacco
rain on the pavement outside some $5 folk rock show
frisbee in the heavy air of an oncoming season
9th street basements, halloween dresses,
yellow line drift, bluegrass, johnny cash
that empty airplane sound, the omaha airport carpet
eggs over easy and the oblivion of sleep
the back stairs at some house party
j r dot with a bag of psilocybin mushrooms,
cheap wine overnight at the bakery
kitchen card tables and gas burner onions
guitars i still don't play
dead leaves on highway 2, bank signs in the bitter cold
bags of books, boxes of poems, bad sketches
academic manuscripts and yellow post-it notes
a burning car in the street on election night
a 3am university cop knocking on my passenger-side window
going across the ocean and giving up
mistakes i won't make again
lies i still tell —