Little things set
in a row
glued down tight 
like morning whiskers
meant to shave 
skin from lips
sticking out popping 
up these bristles 
may brighten might 
polish but often 
they irritate and 
irrigate dry things 
making them moist 
such are things 
found in morning 
and in woodsheds
and on animals 

Laying in dark 
trying to decide 
about impossible things 
to make coffee 
to wash up 
to make certain 
that I’m not 
yet again so
many other things 
coffee always helps 
take edges off 
of my disappointments
like sandpaper does 
to cut wood 

I’ve been on
the run since 
Chicago dodging every 
memory of before 
swatting them away 
and drowning them 
in bottle after 
bottle under keg
after keg and 
beneath as I
flew from continent 
to continent over 
country and sea
I didn’t want 
things or have 
things for things 
were weights and 
chains and anchors 
I was free
free at last
to run but 
now in Denver 
I’ve found home 
and the beginning 
of myself again 
having laid to 
rest my ghosts 

This this now 
is my craving 
of which I 
could share but 
no one wants 
too busy I
suppose but I 
have made time 
designed I suppose 
my life to 
allow for this 
and others well 
others have not 
maybe they will 
once they learn 
just what their 
own this is 

This fuzzy time 
before morning has
shaved off last
nights shadow making 
next day smooth
I sit think 
thank and write 
this dark isn’t 
so deep more 
pencil lead gray
scribbles on a
sheet of paper