10/52: winter's fist

winter's fist is melting open
fingers suddenly loose
we can begin to wriggle free
and breathe.

8/52: when I think of you

of the things you said,
only the final words remain.

do you remember records?
do you remember how
the concentric circles could look uninterrupted
and you could be playing one
with only the slightest hiss over the hifi
grooving to a song about love
or forever
or how even the nights were better

when suddenly the needle
would get caught on this hidden pit
you completely missed before
and the sound would go
from sweet
to ear knives?

nothing could get you to listen
to that record again.
the memory of that moment
stares at you with gouged out eyes
and you want to forget all of it.

you long for DJ Charon
and the smooth water tracks of Styx
to wipe away not just the last moment
but all of it.

and that's what I want
when I think of you.
to sell our record to some hipster
who doesn't actually listen to vinyl
but has a wall full of them
to show his friends.

5/52: refrain

what are the dimensions
of a man's life?

you think you have the measure,
you think you are ready to cut

but the pattern is not so discernible,
the length of the string not so absolute.

you are just one man
and the Greeks believed it took three Gods
to spin, apportion, and sever.

6/52: I'll try again

The only thing is
to be able to make sure
you save any questions about
your experience.

I'm sure that you can also use
a different post
to show up in my mind.

I'm sure you have to be able
to make a decision.

I'm sure you get the latest version of the day.

I'm not sure if I can see the full story
of my life.

The first time
I had the opportunity. 

Please note that you are not
an option for the next day. 

I'm not going anywhere
for more than a year,
I will not be able to make it.

The other hand is

a good idea.

I'll try again.

**

 

Sent from my Verizon Wireless 4G LTE smartphone

the entire text was generated using text suggestions provided by  my phone. I'd wanted to try this for a while. It seems like Austin Kleon's black out poetry.

3/52: storm song

The snow is falling like down,
signaling my heart to rest
even as my tires slip a little
and the traction light flickers
on the dash board
warning me against the white song.

On through the storm I push
wishing I were on a horse
covered with a wool cape
and a brimmed hat,
easing along through the woods.
Yes, agrees the song -
this is what you want.

2/52: into the night

behind
like a black wall
like some life-sized Transformer
the semi's cab reflects
the orange of the sunset
in my rearview mirror.
the silhouette
ringed with fire
like a dark angel
pursuing me
out of Memphis and into the night.

1/52: not like a storm

the thunder is here and there
like someone playing with the balance knob
on my father's old hi-fi -

and then the flash behind the blinds
like my sister's dance strobe -
the one she bought at Spencer's -
she and her friends playing music in the basement
hair, arms frozen in ice light.

and then comes the rain
   on the roof
   and against the windows.
it's just like the tracks on my mother's meditation
tapes
the ones she listened to,
and nothing got wet.

tonight is not like
a storm.

***

goal for 2015: 52 poems. I know it's modest, but I tried 365 and it was just too hard. I figure 52 I can do. Not necessarily one a week, but 52 does have nice symmetry.