Two Hours on Thursday Night at Earl’s

I’m on the spot where the last guy was
seeing the game and I ain’t afraid to look.

Slow it down.
Take it in.
Mine is a moment I ain’t done with yet.

I got 15 bucks in my pocket
and a dime for the meter.
I’m paying for my watching privileges.

There’s a glass busted on the floor.
There’s a conversation drowning in beer.
There’s God in the mayo.

People are just being.
Like cable TV in 3D.
Everything’s on.

Rhythm in the lights.
Go on the floor.
And a turn gets taken.

There’s two chicks sitting at a table.
There’s a rhythm to their movin’
There’s a beat to their groovin’
There’s a place behind their mask where a stranger ain’t seen.
It’s a sacred place,
The only place where,
A feelin’ can go shopping for a dream.

She’s got a look
That makes me look.
She’s got a habit
That makes me bad.
She’s got a light
That burns me bright.
She’s got a mask
That I can hide.

This ain’t no place for romance.
There’s a notch in the stick and
She’s driving the boat.
I’m laying odds she’ll win.

Pap Doodle

“The sun sets unevenly and the people
go to bed.

The night has a thousand eyes.
The clouds are low, overhead.

Every night it is a little bit
more difficult, a little

harder. My mind
to me a mangle is.”

— Robert Creeley (Chasing the Bird)

I’m sitting in a coffee shop
reading a book of Beat poetry, looking

to see the answers to questions
I’ve yet to ask myself.

Where’d I put them?