Tormented Soul

Some days you get up wanting 
So much to give all the love you have 
To the first person you meet 
Who tells you have a good day; 
Most other times you just wish 
Every last one of them would go away. 

Myopic Gem Merchant on Brink of Bankruptcy

Oh, mensch! How you thought
You weighed everything laid out
Before you with a mean grocer’s eye—

No more! 

Now stranded you see nothing
Precious here, not even priceless lapis
Lazuli blue lapping fabled pebbled shore. 

Alone, Listening to What the Waves Have to Say

Sitting here in this inlet 
Secluded, not believing what 

You hear, you could almost 
Forget what brought you here. 

Saloon Sharp Shooters, Raymond, Washington, circa 1950

Now that one last dude has shot 
His wad of nickels into the belly of the beast 
And cleared out just before closing time, in comes 
That upstairs Greek immigrant tenement urchin who starts 
Biting the dust under the row of abandoned pinball machines. 

He knows if he hangs in there and keeps 
A sharp eye out for any strays, the understanding 
Irish lady of the saloon will once again look 
The other way and let him pocket 
One more buffalo head or two, surely 

A good day’s killing for the likes 
Of the both of them. 

Who Else Out There Thought Facebook Was Only Going to Be a Passing Phase?

Friends, say you posted 

The full moon is like a poem 
That moves you— 

Could you wait around a month for it 
To become marble so you could feel 

Moved enough to like it again?