Threesome

Once again I am
entangled
in a threesome
with Chaos and Doom.
Nothing sexy or new
about this trysting.
I have known them
since chopper nights
thick and dark
as blood fudge;
since divorce nights
of keening despair
and humbling rage;
since madhouse nights
of weirding drugs
and weeping angels;
since jail nights
of lonely screams
and obscene rants.
We go way back,
and here they are again
old, grim lovers,
demanding and deadly,
but oddly comfortable.
From morning until evening,
they smile and taunt
until night comes,
we snuggle up,
and I escape into dreams,
the only privacy
I own.

   - mce

Flea Market Photos

who were these frozen people

the faces that smile or don't
outfits from the 40s, 50s, whenever
poses careful and formal
or anarchic and spontaneous
individuals, couples, groups

someone, somewhere, sometime
cared enough to snap their pictures
but left no words

now they are the faces of no one
motionless images of dead affection
blank histories a stranger can buy
for a quarter a piece
in this market of lost lives.

   - mce

Driving Me Crazy

Twelve hours a week
behind the wheel
of my ancient car
slogging between
two jobs.

And all of this
not to keep
body and soul
together,
just to keep them
in decent proximity.

Too many miles
for this old heart.

   - mce

Motel Wall Concert

It begins with
nervous laughter,
creaking springs,
builds to
loud supplications
to Jesus and God,
ends in final
melting moans.

Funny how little
the notes vary;
more classical
than baroque;
more advertising
jingle than
hallelujah.

The simple sounds
of who we are,
where we come from,
what we do
to each other

played on mortal organs
by ardent amateurs,
overheard through
thin motel walls.

   - mce

Mostly

Mostly
the heart knows
the right thing
to do,
but doesn't.

Why should that
surprise anyone?

It's just
a stupid muscle
after all.

   - mce

Free Love - 1969

In retrospect, she was the time's type:
nothing special, really;
nice smile, a decent body,
the obligatory long hair,
almost pretty, but not quite,
seventeen and on her own,
willing to trade her body
for a place to crash, to get high,
maybe a little food.
Nothing personal about it.
I provided her three night's lodging.
She paid in full and moved on.
I can't remember her name.
Those were the sixties.

   - mce

The Whiskey Bottle Is Empty

The whiskey bottle is empty.
Now there is a sufficiently
sad sentence. Succinct, too.
It speaks a grave-side quiet,
as when emptiness is all.
The whiskey bottle is empty.
Five words leading only
to a garbage can.
The whiskey bottle is empty.
The simple, declarative
syntax of nothing.

   - mce

Trickster

It is hard
to make poetry
out of nothing.

Out of empty rooms
chilly at dawn;
out of a solitary bed;
out of bad food,
poorly prepared,
eaten alone;
out of jobs done
only for the money,
not the work;
out of dead memories
of family and love;
out of no expectations;
out of life's end time.

It is hard
to make poetry
out of nothing,

but I just did.

   - mce