in some muddy lot
all the horrors of life come real
that was the year
fires left the dirt slopes beside the freeway
black and charred
and the trees
spindly toothpicks burned through
like an angry child's artwork

later, when it wouldn't stop raining,
there were mudslides and floods,
echoes of nature's past violence,
reminders of things to come

someone, everyone,
made me the promise of a happy life,
success and satisfaction,
of the relief i'd feel after hard work,
the worth i'd find in the course i'd naturally take

but i don't find much worth in anything now
and i don't feel it's natural
the way my life is going
disaster mounting on disaster
with no meaning to the present
and no purpose for the future

lightning

nights like lightning
flashing one to the next
a rage,
a haze of neons and fluorescents
throats raw, tongues caked
reason, tension,
disgarded like cigarette butts, nightclub flyers in gutters

--------------------------------------

boys in the backyard,
in the lightning bug humidity of a long grass evening
cool and forgiving beneath your toes
beers warm and crickets chirp
and in the dim back porch light,
we watch the trees for slow change,
resting on damp wooden railings, chair arms
quiet in the night, shallow breathing in that still air

no evidence of life on these tumbleweed-lined streets
moving down roads with no way to capture the images
though all these signs of lonliness need to be photographed
be remembered
for some later solice
some later company

laying down, face pressed against hot asphault,
the smell of dirt and oil and rubber
the dusty smell of new rain

some prospector has laid out lines,
hammered in stakes,
a superficial attempt at eking out a territory
that will just be washed away, blown away

what is coming toward me?
what is coming for me?
burned by the blackness laid out in the sun,
passing by and never stopping

lonely again
every night like the last
wishing for company on the couch, in my bed

hearing the neighbors but not feeling their presence,
smelling their food and having nothing to eat
how will i fall asleep tonight?
alone and thinking, dreaming
of some distant future
where promises will come true,
where sheets will be soft and clean
and my company will not snore with the scent of alcohol

doors slam and i feel a fear that parents are fighting
always jumpy at these noises
though i wish they were my own

---------------------------------------------

when will you find me
black-toothed and burnt up
from a life unprotected,
existance in the cold nights alone

days when i walked in dirt,
red dust rising around my shoes,
i felt convinced that some desert life would find me
and i'd never recede into shadows, never feel the black coldness
of nights alone, alienated on my own back porch
wishing for a dog, a friend

the longer it takes you,
the more eaten-up i'll become
hollow and mindless and unable to relate to you

but if you can't come,
if you can't commit to a rescue from lonliness,
at least send me money
i'm hungry and cold.

suppression as punishment
all that was waiting to get out until the moment
when rough hands with ripped nails
slid and caught on your child-like skin

that release, that expression,
spilling out like music, like clear water,
like a cool breeze through the screen on a hot summer night,
suddenly stopped up,
forced inside

to hide everything
and feel nothing
but anger and resentment and fear
is no life to live
is no life at all

do something; give me something
so i can understand again
what it is to feel the heart,
to feel any of the connected human emotions
before it goes so far until i can't remember
they should have been there

home, now

home, now,
in this city of pumpjacks and train tracks,
some relic of the old west, filled with korean neon signs
and screaming children
and fast cars with headlights too bright

when i hear the wind gusting through the windows
and the boxcars rolling and rattling in the distance
i feel that familiar pull outside
to be out in that cool, dark air
to feel that infinite freedom of fields and small towns and highways lit up like runways

backyards hung with a pale scent of smoke
hills high with grasses looking off into the black, glistening ocean

it all makes me lonely
like looking into houses as you drive past, seeing some room lit by a lamp,
where someone else feels tired and safe
and you are reminded, more clearly, that this is not yours
you are alone

but loneliness is a feeling i confuse with freedom
and i find comfort in that solitary strength,
that separation of one person from the next,
a unique peace in private thoughts
and moments of being completely withdrawn

it gives me a chance to notice the strange beauty
of things generally ignored,
things lonely in their own right
like the heat of ashes on the ground
and the smooth, straight shine of railroad tracks at night

and here i am in another city
home, now
for a while

everywhere i go
i find people who i could love
who i could know forever
who i could sleep with and cry with and trust with my secrets
but i hold back because i know
that they will get old, get married
or i will move away

in one town i am ripe
with confidence, poise,
heroin model clothes,
proud of the breeze on my legs,
bold in the heat and sun

two hours to the next town where my posture changes
the skirt, the bra strap
suddenly white trash
hot afternoons sprawled on the porch
too uncouth to care about the exposed skin,
the sweat at the backs of my knees

which life is mine?
the one that is easiest?
or the one that is least degrading?
and which is which? which is less a lie?
and what friends will i find in each place
only to lose in the transitions