Friday, November 9, 2007


RIGHT NOW

Right now, my skull is thunderous and empty

with the left-over reverb of a rock'n'roll show--

I can hear anything at 4:20 AM.


Footfalls up the block--

A drunk man struggling to find

his key; he jabs it forward

like a single prow to make sense

of this stupid, mute ocean.

I can hear the oil of his left-over
fingerprints in its silvered grooves--
I can hear anything.


Right now, the night sounds

like a thousand furnaces.

It could be airplanes taking off,

taxis missing their exits,

lettuce heads bobbing like green monks
in the back of tractor trailers that see the last
gas station for miles but won't stop.

A slow, heavy throb that is less

like love and more like cursing--

a last drink poured,

a forehead steaming with fever.
Right now, I can hear anything.

Monsters