Sunday, March 21, 2010



If you want to write a poem about the sunrise
you have to get up fucking early

-Me, I said that.

I have a twilight nightlife
rambling before dawn

I am the four on the clock face
being pointed to
and accused
but now I am the four
and an inch more

the invisible mechanism of streetlights
continue in incremental changes, one eye ticks to green
to yellow then red, the other blinks green now
as if competing, they face north-south,
against east-west from red to back again

the intersection vacant of cars
the concrete shore line and asphalt sea meet and warm
the black hand of night is slowly robbed of stars
the heraldic rays of coming day
green-red, yellow-red, red-green

green, an rusty watermelon-green 89’ Le Baron
a black man with illumines eyes, his skin, dusty charcoal
his lighter skinned son in the blue light of twilight made steel gray
perched on stacks like an ashy pigeon
sits on stacks of white newspaper stack in the back seat

brake lights flare
blur and smear
their red stain written across the empty air
neon cherry blur
a brake lights smudge

the sound of a single issue of the Sac Bee
smacks its palm on the ground
drags itself across the anonymous face of some suburban driveway
the car’s engine grumble away
seeking a pocket in the still air

all your choices have brought you to 2nd street
the silence says, the clock hand points
all your years have brought you to thirty
all your words have brought
to you these words

the silence says,
the clock hand points
the streetlight mechanism


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