Mardi Gras in Exile

If I leapt open and fearless
in front of a subway train today
I'm fairly certain the the stain
I'd leave behind
would be a festive smear
of purple green
and gold

That's the color of my blood
that or Mississippi mud
or the deep sunset gloom
of an algae-tinted bayou
where I go to find myself

But nothing finds me here
there are no brass bands
or seconds lines for lost
poet girls who've gone
searching for their words

Until maybe someday
when some soulful Southern boy
comes to blow his horn
to fame and fortune
on the crowded streets
instead spends too much time
straddling a hungry third rail until he

finds himself on an empty
subway platform
blowing a sad, slow rendition
of St. James Infirmary
down a deserted tunnel
where only the lost souls
of lonely poets haunt
the too-silent dark

Burned

In a stunning feat

of structural

mis-engineering

I have burned

far more bridges 

than I have ever built

My

human relations

suffer from a

shaky foundation

and the constant

buzzzzzzzz

of too much traffic

It's a beautiful ride

across the bridge

but the other side ends

in a sudden drop

into the cold and

empty space below

I burn them because 

they're fun

but dangerous stretches

of madness

where the lonely

tend to follow

But in that brief moment

when all is set ablaze

at least they keep me warm

Time is a Ferris wheel

Time is a Ferris wheel
Everything feels like motion
but it's really just a series of
the same moments
passing again and again
with different people
beside you
Dangling
brightly lit
above a disinterested crowd
And trying desperately
to figure out how far
you can rock the car
without winding up
broken and bleeding
at the bottom
of the ride