in this summer of collection
cut our loss
like oily grasses
strangling in the morning glory

unblemished
in sort of a no-harm-no-foul
rescue from sentiment

breathe deep
this stale air of inconvenience
off white and starched
like hospital linen

wipe your hands
and observe the yellow tape
left by those internal authorities

at least your heart
stuck its head out the window
racing the devil away from
the prim Connecticut byways

a nervous whistle
replaces the syrupy harp
it’s getting on fall soon

who will notice that one more line
wizened into this smile
thin lips that only speak now
from distance grown

© Tom Watters 9/9/08

in the waning days of beginning
I came home in decision

your ‘ness was my itinerary
kind, thoughtless, blind, slow
and mine:
happi, restless, forgive, wit

breathe.
hope can draw blood.
I reached into your bag
then traveled to Kowloon
via air Ektachrome

we walked gardens,
gazed in Buddhist temples.
I half-heartedly asked if I could
buy you dinner at a floating restaurant
this epicure unrequited

you still don’t trust us
my version or yours
honestly, there’s comfort in no

it’s all too much

this prismatic trip,
squinting at my fingertips,
brought me closer to a clairvoyance
teaching me a history
in your present absence

a smile comes to my lips.
I thought about the sound,
the greasy smell of a projector

shining forth a picture of you
closer than before travel
in our junk’s full sails

© Tom Watters 8/23/08

on a cross-country drive
my fellow traveler
woke from a stolen nap

he chastised the jazz
filling the vehicle
as music with the cymbals
in all the wrong places

I want

to make love to you
on those brass lily pads…

organic
knowing that you would understand
their morse code

the right places

chewing doublemint
because it’s not such a distraction

raise the wonder
of Marvin Gaye.
Marvin Fucking Gaye!

@ Tom Watters 8/12/08

pawnshop found
made you laugh
like some partridge family lunchbox
not of your era, but if you could
y’know

time travel

that perfect piece of clip-art
not too much information
or superfluous features

it could get the job done
made out of metal—not plastic
would serve you well
at least until you could afford
the dreamy one

this object

he has seen white
been to the edge of
what you never want to know
why he smiles
in that great distance

no expiration date
and no label indicating fragility

it’s all implied…
while the music of nostalgia
sings its passion play
kitsch and dust
polaroid barbie
wind up toy

heart aside
you throw yourself
into this channel
and adjust
rabbit ears accordingly

and just watch

© Tom Watters 8/6/08