bright lights, loud noises @brightlightsloudnoises - Tumblr Blog

from a distance

“memphis” by chuck berry played on the jukebox we sat outside with coffee we got away for a few hours it was good luck

I watched a buzzard circle. a tiny dot in the blue sky, way past the highways it rolled into strange shapes. it moved back and forth but if i held my thumb up I could cover it

#poetry

dry leaves

I ask the waitress if she can break a 50, like I’m some kind of big timer,

but it’s just left over from a good evening at the sports book, months ago

“yes sir!” she says with a bored look in her eyes

I finish the last bit of toast and coffee,

it feels like everything is screaming for me to be dissatisfied but I can’t do it.

I push the door open the pleasant sound of the bell tied to the handle

I think about how it would be nice to have a girl with me someone to take to the used book store

browse eastern philosophy, dog-eared science fiction, burned out best sellers, fishing almanacs, sumerian diets…

I skip the book store, turn off the football on the radio

there’s a restaurant or bar by the traffic light, they’ve got a patio and as I roll to a stop I hear some kid singing his ass off

they’ve got a stack of logs by the gate and a small fire

the glasses on the table shine and everyone looks very involved and kind

I see the chalkboard they’ve put up as a menu “oysters and beer”

“damn right,” I respond and the light changes and I could drive all night

#poetry

children in the snow

the snow had covered the

barn

so that no one could enter.

we stood waist-deep in the snow poking at a

frozen buzzard

with a stick and

in the distance we heard a piano though neither of our families owned one

#poetry

a tattooed life

you hid your tattoos from me because you said a tattooed life is a patterned life

insecure and buried in wishes and memories

but listen,

it works for you

it looks good on you

the planets revolve around you

etc…

and whoever has you

I hope they know what to do with you

and I hope you find the courage to get more ink in your skin

#poetry

novel

in our lifetime the novel may die, it may already be dead

they may say that once a great art form existed, a series of characters printed on paper that when viewed by the trained human eye produced a series of reactions in the neocortex triggering emotion, wisdom, and entertainment,

that these contraptions were stored on shelves and one could extend a hand and with their fingers open them

#poetry

celebrity

we were left in the hallway on the evening of the casting call

they gave us one look up and down and said "next time, kids"

and it wasn't a shock it was an affirmation

so we finished what was left in the coffee pot and walked out,

onto the street

a double bill of failure,

unfit for service,

clutching the lines we couldn’t get across

#poetry

bare, like matches

now that my heart cannot do what it used to

I find myself thinking about the youthful days that burned brightly, that now lay bare, like matches around my chair in the room where I type

the days when you spun dizzy, drunk in our first apartments

and now I ask at your doorstep if you think that we could make it at another time together, maybe when we are different, more agreeable people and you shake your head then your umbrella

and I lean in

and lean in,

our lips finally brushing

a cat moves out in the rain looking for a dry place

a car honks

and the thunder works well

and I get out of there,

I walk, I drive, I walk, catch a ride to the shore

and

it’s green, my head hurts and the day slowly arrives

#poetry

adapting

I went out to get a book which is a pain in the ass because there is about 1 bookstore left in town

I saw people setting up tents in front of an electronics store, they wanted what the people had inside

the sky was pink and there were birds, they would explode suddenly from the trees, in a cascade of shadows,

in surprising beauty that leaves you unprepared for the shit they leave behind

#poetry

quality of life

the bartender, she has tattoos up and down her arms it reminds me of a mattress print

and if you make it over I have lemons and whiskey which I am sure you can mix much better than me

and outside my window I can see the traffic of a famous highway

I recognize the models of the cars

I think about my own times on that highway and I feel real affection

real sadness

and then night falls

but the sun never leaves

#poetry

she's trained the birds

she’s trained the birds to rise with the sun,

given them reason to sing and meter to their song,

she’s in the scent of coffee,

at least in my coffee,

that I brew in no special way

#poetry

strange animals

I’d rather drink beer and coffee than sit by the pool with you

and when we go out to eat my conversation is poor and you say I look unhappy

I’m not unhappy

I just can’t wait to wind up next to you and your naked body in front of a piano and a bottle

with your small hands grabbing fistfuls of life

#poetry

with an eye on the moon

there will never be nights like those again and as I lift the bottle up at its angle and I look down its barrel

I see the moon

#poetry

when it matters

before the drinks treat you right before the music has its way with you before the weather tilts your soul the good way or the bad way

in the calm before the storm find happiness

because that might be the only time it matters

#poetry

we brake for no one

you’ve got talent and soul which is such a rare mix and when you get upset and throw yourself into someone else’s arms I just don’t think about it, I go buy coffee, turn off my brain,

it’s easy,

the girl at the fast food window is nice, she’s skinny and a little bit sad, but she covers it well with a smile and she explains the price to me and I hand her the cash and I get the short styrofoam cup and we leave each others’ lives forever,

maybe

#poetry

unqualified

I’ve built diners, monuments, pool halls, and bookshelves for you in my head and they are always packed and lit with romantic light and you should hear the drunk piano player I’ve hired to play on friday nights

#poetry

the ride

the strobe light was a flashlight, a searchlight as I watched you

spin and spin and spin

in the candy weather

#poetry

reaching

the hands of clocks can become meaningless quickly

they can dissolve in passion and bordem

or they can claw, chase loss

like your hands against the fogged glass

naked in a chevrolet