casualty
and
effect

ask me about the surcharge
again
as I continue
pay the toll

do wonder why I continue
to pay for a road that
will never be paved
never a brick
to be laid

the devil of desire
offers nothing
demands everything
and delays
all flights through to
nirvana

cause
and
effective

© Tom Watters  12/1/06

under a tall sky
fed full
of stars and ink
the only word
that the light allows
my eyes to focus on

now

this cool desert air hisses
names and
uncommon grace
mesquite and creosote
break my trance as if I were
breathing it in through my nostrils
or was it my fingertips?

now

senses speaking languages
that they hadn’t been taught
and yet they orchestrate as if
it were second nature
the ebony sky is
bright as halogen ignited

now

the sword I have
chosen to fall upon
sends me racing down
the rabbit hole
no memories to compete with…
the easiest smile
warm surf laps its
soft breath

now

© Tom Watters  11/27/06

ears open
the waves sang gossip
a crowd of people
a train station
bustling quietly at
4 in the morning

so much to do
the scent of ocean
a distraction from
your hair in my hands
your hair in my hands

the ocean pulls
at my thighs
its rush hour thick
reminder, reminder, reminder
water,
I wanted to drink from this cup

I can tell the surf
what remains veiled
what I cannot utter
for some reason
for some reason

so much to do
and inconveniently
a new found sense
of responsibility
by the grey-green light
that I left sleeping

© Tom Watters  11/19/06

addiction’s embarrassment
spilled out onto the street
it reminded her of kool aid
it reminded me of Billie
and Ella and problem divas
from after-school specials

grace left its gossamer veil
at the gate of heaven/hell
sunny-side up
a tacky note
be back sometime
maybe soon.

we grind out
our teeth and pelvic grins
we respect rakish nature
no nature at all
picking out targets out
of laziness, need, convenience

this manufactured desire
spells out our name
in the buzzing vacancy
that sputtering glow
with shiny rainy streets
like rosy film noir

our identities
remain on plastic cards
in our hasty shed-skin
new reptiles that
search, search–with fresh batteries
exfoliating and carving

fill no voids
that glove that fits
all the wrong fingers
too perfectly tight
a ballet with xylophones
in need of headphones

© Tom Watters  10/21/06