in times of color,
I call upon a resource
always there, but simple
seemingly hidden,
right there in full view

peace remains
in the decay of the unwilling
calmly waiting its turn,
never mocking the experiments
of her wayward sons

there are blooms
amidst the trash,
birth, from the foulest of ideas
waiting for chrysalis
ready to take the most jaded breath
from breasts of heartlessness.

I will, I will!
want not–can not
free my blood from the last
gasp and cell-level light.

faith is in love…
in love with the dark,
as well as the well-lit.

4/4/08

unspoken
green felt shores
and your sherpas
carrying caches of venom
they tore pathways
under my wounds once more

forgiven by ruse
of convenience
and the sweet bird
of wish-laden timing
covering that stain on the sheets

you accept my hands
defensively offensive
tented here for the night
mirrored-ball mirage oasis
of your own fucked-up desert

laughter belies
the dry corners of your mouth
papier-mâché folds
in place of skin
clockworks surrogate any heat

have to check
your calendar, after all
await the remix
altering the meaning of the lyric
to suit

© Tom Watters  3/24/08

How are
you

asked me first

not wanting the
answer as much

as the breath

there are reasons
I remember
my first car
all the grease and dents
sweat on a dry summer night
more than say my “third”

honesty wasn’t deferred then
you just knew.

never
not this time

what are
you

doing time

breathe
it’s more comfortable that way

I never slammed my
fingers in her doors

she didn’t view my
gas money as
en(title/trap)ment

that oxygen tank
resting at the ready
in the corner of your heart

exhale. you’re safer now
honest.

© Tom Watters  3/13/08

or tall…
you always seem distracted
by tall

average and heartless
and weighing in at 5’10”
not much of
a distraction

in this night’s sea

red sky at morning
brings one to Wisconsin
and its promise of cheddar
cheesecake

I’m not a traditional
meateater
and yet neither is there an orchid
blooming where the memory
of her eyes
once were

you spell it out
like a speak and spell
blunt but easily stopped
by a tug of a string

the kindest interpretation
that money can shy away from
on a late Thursday night.

I remember arriving here
waiting for you
receiving your entourage
instead of my smile
instead of a semblance of grace

grace

just a word in a dictionary
or a Gideon’s bible
judge not
lest ye be forgotten

or worse yet
called
for the sake
of create
tivity

let’s blow this popsicle stand

© Tom Watters  3/9/08