stilled black waters call my name
as i stare down from a bridge
built of fire and steel
and the broken hands of ghosts
and distant memories.


as a young man
i used to cruise
a certain park
in search of things
that go bump
in the night.

now i walk
to a convenience
on the corner
for a quart of milk
or a pack of smokes.
sometimes the
results are
the same,
but most nights
i find myself
home watching
of X-Files
and ER.


jesus does not live here
beneath silken sheets
as we join and rejoin
through a storm riddled night.

you stumble toward sobriety
as you dance into your jeans
and trip across thin rails of light
gliding through parted curtains.

i ask you to call me
as i try to remember your name.
and jesus rolls his eyes as he
stares down from a plastic cross
nailed to the door.