pebbles in my mind (or how my morning started . . .)

I bust my ass
to buss your cheek
then I wake up
and realize
the only thing busting
is my head
and the dreams
that fade
in the harsh morning sun

moving slow
not sure if it's
the pizza I gorged
from last night
or the tequila
I raised
and lowered
like a frailing
swiss watchmaker
but I am amazed
at my endless ability
to bullshite myself

thirty minutes later

All I want is quiet;
when I ask for it
I get the silent treatment

so I drive faster
which only increases
the icy cold

silence,
which no longer seems
quite so quiet


Dropped my dogs off for grooming this late May morning. A short drive into the countryside, accompanied by the customary wails and howls of four dogs as if they were on the way to the gallows instead of to Ms Anne's, who grooms the dogs of country stars and calls all dogs "babies," a nomenclature stuck in my head because someone else in the car keeps calling them that in Anne's baby-talk diction. On the drive home I noticed the fields ablaze with green growth, just damn blooming leaves thick as my head before 7am. I'll be forty-six in a few weeks and I ask myself,

are my fields spring
or autumn?

thirty minutes later . . .

I don't ask the question
too loudly
just in case
some part of my mind
thinks I want an answer

and I suppose some part
of my monkey mind does
because when I look
as I just looked

at photos of an old friend
both old and old
and I see her husband
balding and gray

probably pushing seventy
I'm surprised by how good
he looks
and surprised

I don't think
he looks
that
old

because
damn
it's almost
noon
and
all
I
want
is
a
little
quiet