Pittsburgh

my grandfather was a steel man
his union due did pull us through
like him
my father
was never much for i love yous

i'm a father too
but that don't mean i'm in their shoes

so i'm gone to pittsburgh
hear the northbound track
i'm coming home
to take my daughter back

i'm gone to pittsburgh
oh pennsylvania line
i'm coming home
to make you mine

the ohio
allegheny
monongahela
cold and grey

smell the rivers
taste the steel
but don't believe
what is not real

May 20

i walk into books-a-million; khaki pants, white-tee, and sperry's. michael is wearing the same thing i am and we both order coffee. i get mine with whipped cream and michael gets his with none. i don't sit at my table; because i sit by the window.

we both open a book, me reading about Ronald Reagan as i read something else; something i can't spot the title of. Michael looks concerned as i scratch my nose, sipping our coffee with whipped cream and without periodically, still reading.

i look young, yet potentially older; you know that questionable type. we wear socks in our boat shoes, as i normally do. why wouldn't i? my name is michael.

I watch, waiting for something, and yet not knowing anything other than that i must begin remembering, everything. nothing comes to mind. michael and i keep reading, but aren't absorbing, nor remembering, as i mentioned before, i am concerned.

"I have to go" we think; but where? neither of us knows; but michael sort of does; that faint kind of sort of, like right before i leave a place i won't be coming back to. not certain, but almost positive; yet not rational because michael won't be coming back to this place.

i remember a hotel room, and a tooth brush, maybe my shirt behind the bathroom door; we always remember later; a week later when michael unpacks his bags.

now i am focused, because i'm looking concentrated like; not all around, up and down like; noticing the chocolate mint magazines and cheap matt damon movies like. i hope i'm taking everything in, because michael for sure is not, we don't know a thing about Ronald Reagan, nor the Salt II agreements. good thing michael's reading something else, something i don't know the title of.

2-10-10

Killer whale, did you see
me sitting there by the top railing

Alligator did you hear
me yell your name with my father near

Dinosaur, did you mind
when i slid down your neck and spine

Ballerina did you catch
my tears that fell on the empty bench

Tall giraffe, did you feel
the weight of my eyes in the rear view mirror

You were only a minute
a shout between my hands
but now that voice has become lost
inside a mans

or so it seems...

November

warped boards, rocks-litter-and steel
the dixie train track became our midnight trail
steady now, she's walking toe-to-heel
i put out my hand to the ballerina on a tight-rope rail

her legs laying outstretched
parallel over a concrete ledge
anxious for the approaching train
to awaken the pilgrim she became

frame by frame
each passing car
caught a wordless moon
with her stare

slowly our knees entwine
a quiet hand, secretly exploring mine
as chin and lips press up against cheek
consecrated by the dim-lit street

frame by frame
each passing car
caught a wordless moon
with her stare

please, please be patient cuz it's time i need
please, please wait here with me

As the setting sun
uncovered each star one by one
her heart was the night sky
and her eyes had only just begun

from a couch, in a living room

the stereo is eyeing me down
the records' a spinnin'
the records' a spinnin'
the records' a spinnin

the newspaper reads itself
the pages are turnin'
the pages are turnin'
the pages are turnin'

nothing is real
my world is make believe

the t.v. talks to me in my sleep
the channels are changin'
the channels are changin'
the channels are changin'

the clock is seated, propped like a judge
the hand are pointin'
the hand are pointin'
the hands are pointin;

when an eye is free of martyrs
and casualties are conversation starters

then nothing is real
i am what they tell me