Monthly Archives: October 2011


At the orange blood of sunrise,
I wear my winter boots.
The ground is crunchy;
the world brittle.
The snow outran the frost this year.
No one was prepared for this
least of all my boots.


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unstuck in time

Sometimes the radio makes me want to cry.
And then the road doesn’t look like where I am anymore.
And I’m not where I am– I am unstuck in time like Billy Pilgrim.
Nostalgia isn’t a mood, it’s a place.
The past may be a foreign country, but nostalgia
is the birth place you can never return to,
and yet can never leave.

Somteimes the music on the radio erases
every day in the last 364 and I am back
where I started: driving on a strange and darkened road.
No sunset to drive off into.
No horizon to hope for.
Just blackness and streetlights every so often
like a Leonard Cohen song sung by Tom Waits
for the dead Amy Winehouse.

But I can’t cry now, I have to keep driving
even though I know what I want is impossible:
to find my destination is that foreign country,
that new place where I was always meant to be.

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Filed under home, poem, travel

death by misadventure

It’s official: it wasn’t an overdose
of solitude, like Elvis.
The Coroner’s report,
as reported by BBC radio,
confirmed that Amy Winehouse
died a “death by misadventure.”
In her blood, they found five times
Britain’s “drink driving” limit.
In America, we reduce everything to acronyms
then turn those letters into verbs.
She “O.D.”ed.
But why not “oded”?
She sang an ode to addiction
or addiction was her ode.
It wasn’t suicide, exactly.
Wasn’t quite on purpose, nor an accident.
Wasn’t the ironic effects of withdrawal.
A life, more than a death, by misadventure,
an adventure slightly gone awry.
And there’s enough blame
to go around the world for this one.
We all knew the cause already
we just didn’t have a name for it.

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Filed under poem, word-play