the blue building

the blue
is painted over bricks and over
a diagonal set of indoor stairs that
may have had windows one time but
now are bricks covered blue as well
and the blue
extends over in a shadow on the sidewalk
and picks up the little knobs and knots
on every building, ducts or meters — allblue
in the sun the whole building takes a disco
stance and proclaims
slate powder sky ocean traces of your eyes

leftovers microwaved for dinner

the simple flick of the light switch
is nice to come home to. it
lights the kitchen walls so you can
water the Gerbers, give them a pat,
take the leftover spaghetti from the fridge —

the sauce you made for family
when the apartment filled with noise
so much bigger than the TV —

watch the bowl spin round, round
the heat picks every particle and bursts
tomato in a fine spray you’ll clean
later in the night, when you can’t sleep.

speedway for mist racing (thoughts on an airplane)

the small window
is a speedway for mist racing
past till my eyes grow tired of the closeness
and with refocus
and a press of the small lightbulb
the dark pours in with flashes of lightning
lining clouds beside us, i
break to swig ginger ale bubbles
and the man across
sleeps with an open mouth
pop another cracker snack salty
on my tongue
turn my head to the next small window
and catch the last glimpse
of the sunset flaming out past the wing.

love lost (never had)

love lost (and never had)
reappeared in a dream
the same car my driving hand
pounding nervous on the leather
of the steering wheel
while the other
twirled with your left in air
-the space between, unspoken-
fingers of each folding
over again and again
palms pressed and teased
together apart together

until you leave, step outside into
a space of darkness
and i double over myself
in the wrenching realization.

when he played "The Pretender"

blue crabs stroll
along the night surface
of water that before
looked just like
chocolate silk and
there is this girl,
she sits alone hood
to block the wind and
behind her two women
call woooo wooos
to Jackson Browne while
a man smokes solo
next to a prudish streetlight
the yellow beer guys
carry their loads and
there is this man
he mumbles as he walks
to work his second shift
and the boaters honk
horns in approval
holding hands and rocking
while a vast sea
sings along decades past.

[jackson browne played pier 6 in baltimore tonight. ]

riding my bike at night (and Russian classical music)

riding fast
down the center yellow lane
no cars
no stops at the signs
(quick turn)
down back alleys
i’ve spent my whole entire¬†life
(swerve to avoid a
i’ve never felt so ____
as riding this bike
now, darkened city sleeping,
(hop the curb)
and at home,
when i arrive
the Russian classical
echoes alone in
the apartment,
(minor) steps along-
side my own.