Tuesday, April 03, 2007

The Break

For Steve Rupard, Neighborhood Barkeep.
Thanks for the paper to write on.


The snow helps the craziness; an
outspoken crime spree, love tossed aside. The
uncertainties of the future shield your departure, your

excuses. Made up or not, you left. A suicide of
relationship. Am I saying you’re totally to blame?
Well, no.

Hell no!


I’m done for. A meteor never puncturing earth’s atmosphere.
Nothing but hydrogen, ice, and dust particles

lost in purgatory.
No joy, no pain, suffering or happiness.

No warm guns.

No smiles showing orthodontic teeth.

Confusion caps
white like the tops of waves rushing in on shins.
The white that sits, just for a second,
on top of the waves.

The break.

Miniature moving mountains
sliding gracefully along
tectonic plates,

sex on clean cotton sheets.


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