Steve says he painted all his lies white, sweet
like marshmallows in a campfire...
perdido wrote:ALWAYS WINTER WOLVES
1.
Steve comes through trees
with the other fog-forms of dawn
milk on his breath he brushes
the dew from his jacket
we go to the pool and sit cross legged
in the grass, the smell of chlorine
and vegetables on the grill and
it is almost autumn and it is
no time to be at a pool.
Last night we went to the bar,
the one with vintage arcade games
and whiskey specials the one only
a few feet from home plate.
Later on the curb we sit and talk about women,
wary of cruel urban shadows and streetlight ghosts.
Steve says he painted all his lies white, sweet
like marshmallows in a campfire, none of them
were supposed to bite.
2.
Midday we get drunk and go to Wal-mart
scouring the aisles for a sense of self
an anchoring point for souls
that threaten to float away.
3.
Nancy tastes like sky, her cumulonimbus body
leaves lightning-scars on my hands and face.
Every night her cold front destroys my apartment,
snow, bone-matter, ashes, and rain-wells.
I don’t know it yet but this is an age of exile,
waiting in a white steel tower surrounded
by winter wolves, a candle flame town
of driftwood and anemic desert scrub.
In a bare room with a window that faces west I
write out-of-place sonnets on a legal pad
with a pen. The sky is a watercolor dragon
the sky is a shotgun shell in squid ink.
4.
Steve and I sit on a fence overlooking
mountain pastures and a stream.
In a million years it’ll be a canyon, he says.
When I come home my apartment
is filled with marshmallows, I go to bed
and by morning they have all turned
to blood.