Nerves of the Nightmind

The maple leaves filter the breeze

And the sound intertwines with a distant mower

Gasping two stroke my grand kids will never hear

And associate with all the joy of summer

Sunlight shifts lazily through the ancient window treatments

Lifting the sappy smell from pine tongue and groove as it strikes them each

Heating a little gasp of saccharine lumber

A protection of the wood outside

I'm laying on top of the thin comforter, so as not to subject the ancient sheets underneath to any sort of disturbance

Let them rest for a while longer beneath the aegis of striped cotton

A pattern from the 90s which is now timeless.

There are towels on the walls and thumbed through "bow hunter" magazines in the stand near the bed

In case your attention is too short for the pulp novels collecting dust on the bookshelf

I will sleep lightly for an hour,

Rustling with any change in the symphony outside

I fought for a long time to make sense of the Alpha and Omega,

Realizing in retrospect that enlightenment

Is the smooth pebble in the river bed

Surrounded by layered cliffs of history

Which whisper wisdom: "young one, do not rush".

How ancient they seem to the pebble, how spry they seem to the mountain.

Though spinning through the rock tumbler entertains me,

I've decided that instead of making sense of the centrifuge

I was thinking about a place where I used to be,

Never felt at ease living in a human sea.

Drove home with the windows down

Didn’t even glance back into town

Never knew lonely could get this loud

I heard the peepers drifting through the trees

Thought about getting out and dropping to my knees

Pulling on the infinite sound of a strange deity

That I never let take ahold of me.

Moosejaw Junction blues

Didn’t know where to go

On my way up to Sturgeon bay

With just my sorrows along in tow

When silence is a sin

It’s easy to let the loneliness in

We’ve gone as far as we can

Put to rest a good friend today

The kind that don’t often come round the way

I smelled the sting of snow in the air

And let my eyes drink the blue sky fair

Not sure I’ll ever be the same.

When I first heard the news

Wondered when I could pay the dues

The ones that would take me all the way

So I could drop my soul in that immortal bay.

Moosejaw Junction blues

Didn’t know where to go

On my way up to Sturgeon bay

With just my sorrows along in tow

When silence is a sin

It’s easy to let the loneliness in

We’ve gone as far as we can

I feel like I’m fighting for control

For all of the things in the depths of my soul

Seems like the road keeps winding on

Don’t have much left to pawn

And I’m staring at the sun sinking low.

Maybe one day I’ll blow over the water

Hanging as a ghost above my daughter

Soul floating on sheets of rain

Finally shed that earthly pain

Moosejaw Junction blues

Didn’t know where to go

On my way up to Sturgeon bay

With just my sorrows along in tow

When silence is a sin

It’s easy to let the loneliness in

We’ve gone as far as we can

And I don’t think we’ll make it back here again.

I’ll take a turn and find myself along the way.

And I don’t think we’ll make it back here again.

there’s something special to the evening.

the incandescence fuses with the smell of manure and the sound of laughter

creating a whirlpool that drops you right down into it.

i thought the elephant ear would sooth my craving

for something saccharine and familiar

but it turns out your embrace is what i was missing

just as sweet and comfortable.

the funny thing about touch is

that i crave it constantly, but only on my own terms.

you hold the knowledge of my body like a key

experimenting at length and understanding where

that has cocooned me the past howeverlong.

i don’t suspect i’ve emerged as a butterfly

but maybe a silly moth who has had their wings

brushed with the oil of too many fingers

so i limp along the ground

but still enjoy basking in the glow

of a fresh sunrise and the cacophony of

fauna, before i keel at the weight of my own

lineage.

i’ve wondered if you think of me at all

in fondness or in scrutiny. 

i suppose any press is good press,

although the print has been stacked against 

me in the past.

i still take a gander through the old slides in my head

once in a while

don’t want to overdo it

(that would be hell on my psyche)

but tapping into it once in a while

seems like a good way

to check out the warning sign to a mine field

that kind of feeling

after you drop two ice cubes in a glass

of room temperature whisky.

condensation on the tumbler drops to the table

and we’re at the point in life where we care enough

to wipe it up, or grab a coaster.

where did the days of naive levity go?

when 40 oz was the key to freedom

and hard liquor was a means to an end,

not a pastime.

i like to flirt around the well of mortality

and it weighs on me so heavily

like when i crush a birds head under my boot

or ran over the squirrel in the road,

and the walnut kept rolling even after its body was flattened against the pavement... that kinetic energy rolling onward even after the engine was snuffed out.

i wonder if I’m the walnut or the squirrel in the road?

propelled by some unseen and deceased deity

as a reminder of sensation

vibrations along the gunwhale

transported through time and water

to places and people i hold in high esteem.

every spring there is a resurgence

of memory tied to scent;

fresh cut grass, 2-stroke motors, lilacs in bloom.

with these aromatics comes a cracking of the

chitenous layer i accumulate in the cold months.

it’s a lot of nostalgia for someone who’s always been nostalgic...

i remember fondly the times where i was so hung up on the past,

now in a self repeating cycle sure to continue.

the ouroboros only knows continuity and continuity shall feed it.

so each year as my memories thaw with the melt i will not take for granted the happiness associated with them,

an indelible place

we moved along the shore as the sun sank

curtain to the few days spent in hotel lobbies and labyrinthine hallways.

shadows lengthened as we progressed

and you wrapped me tightly around my waist on our last stop

soaking in the magmatic fire emitted beyond the lighthouse point.

our days have become unrecognizably routine

strafing into one another, like you walk in the hallway

after a bottle of wine.

i don’t mind the sense of security-

but the simple gesture of your grasp made me smile (though you couldn’t see it).

it’s been a while since i have felt that intangible sense of happiness

the thread of the universe, needling into my activities

i’ve let it drift by lately, dancing in the wind like spider’s silk

gleaming in the morning dew, but ineffective and unworthy of its true task

to capture the essence of life.

i’ve repeated the mantra lately: a rising tide lifts all boats

and you have lifted me,

carefully with your tide;

even though i beat back at you - a steady thump thump thump

with negativity and callousness.

i will do my best to echo the radiance you shine when you are up

i will do my best to hoist your countenance when you fall

And all of the transients have pulled their docks out of the water

Signaling their retreat from Paradise.

They've made the drive, to and from, a few times this summer

And spent the days with carefree frolics in the lake.

We who remain, wrapped tight in sweaters and flannel we reserve for our eyes only, never letting them glimpse

The sacred moments we refer to as "locals summer".

Here we embrace the calm aftermath,

The flotsam and jetsam washed clean of our pristine beaches...

And we walk again free from their vise grip.

Yet, they sustain our lifestyle,

And we theirs,

The ever continuous symbiosis of capitalism.

"I'll see you when you retire"

I think, as I wave them goodbye.

"If you make it that far"

I follow with, as I return to the beach front,

Drinking in the water reflected sunlight

Reveling in the waving trees,

And breathing in the fresh air

neck’s tightened up with some old man stiffness

i’ve been drinking too much coffee lately

like i used to in the lab

but that’s not so bad

i’ve been waking up foggy and disconcerted

lots of dreams about people i haven’t seen in a while

feel like i should say hi

but it’s been a little too long

we’ve changed a little too much

you always think certain people are gonna stick around in your life

guess not so much

my friends are different now

we don’t drink to pregame parties 

we drink because we don’t sleep right