Tag Archives: hopelessness


Talking to Alice as she smokes outside the restaurant

where she works as a waitress, in a hokey red and pleated

uniform, some salt-of-the-earth and down home nonsense.

The smoke stinks, and I know it’ll stick to my clothes,

and I’ll smell it on the ride back home afterwards,

but it’s worth it, to be near here, to fell a closeness in winter.

Alice is like me, close to forty, not where we want to be,

so we tell off-color jokes and talk about how the war

ruined it all, and how children are the cruelest mistakes.

Her shift starts in a few minutes, and she’ll go in, and so will I,

and she’ll get to work, and I’ll eat the heavy, greasy food here,

just because I got to steal a few minutes with her.

With someone who knows it’s all going to burn.

Without Stars

Tartarus, without stars,

as the sky cannot see us,

and the satellites, radio waves,

and even God is blind to us.

They sent us down underground,

without gold for Charon, because

we had no gold in our rundown house

in a bad part of town.

In the dark, the galaxies in her head

dim, with no hope for escape,

for the sun, for the warmth of Elysium

that all those rich assholes enjoy.

We hatch a mad plan; to make love,

birth a star that will grow to be an angel.

Raise up through the rock to world above.

Call down a disinterested Seraphim or Paladin.

Even though it was their kind who brought us here.

No other sword or key.

No other face in the sky.

Nothing but time to sharpen fangs.

French Woman

French woman singing on the radio, calling to me from the dark

of this Berlin apartment, as the night passes by without sleep.

A song I’m sure is full of love and tenderness, though I can’t understand.

Another war is brewing. Another pointless sacrifice, that will change nothing.

And still that French woman sings of something pure and sweet.

I think of walking hand in hand with a pretty women, when it’s all really done.

But it will never be done. It’s just the same tired shit on and on forever.

I know I go in the morning, to face the awful thing they’ve done.

French woman sings, I know, of something good and pure and sweet.

I listen, try to hold onto her voice like the last beam of light from the sun.

There will be so little of it left, after all the fire that is to come.

The Night Is Without Mercy

Awake in the middle night. There will be no more sleep.
Daylight seems like it will never come, some broken promise.
Thoughts of the world burning, of evil winning forever and ever.
I try to remember hope, and sweetness, a beautiful lover to adore.
But I am alone in the dark, without hope, without the solace of touch.

There’s a rumble in the distance, a dark god clearing his throat
before he screams the storm down upon us, just to do it, just to hurt us.
So much pride in human hearts, so much pious cruelty, sanctimonious death.
The light and the dark don’t seem so different, when the blood is spilled.
The night is without mercy, and the storm washes away all the world.

 It seems like an eternity ago, a whole other life, a whole other world,
when a woman lay beside me, when we were at peace holding each other.
When the rain was a whisper of some gentle angel, giving us sweet dreams.
We had hope of all that white picket fence bullshit, of a family, or happiness.
She’s long gone, and both of us our dead even as we live, lost to all warmth.

Margot On My Arm

A night out in Downtown Knoxville, with Margot on my arm.
Dining at some fine place, winning her with my wit and charm.
White wine and succulent feasts, the music slow and romantic.
I would be bright as the sun in her eyes, not broken and frantic.
The night warm in early May, whipping her golden hair in whips.
She would laugh, and I’d kiss her head, as the moon continues it’s trips
around the stardust oceans and would take a moment to shed a glow
on a night more perfect, and more wounding, than most mortals know.
We’d watch a classic film at the Tennessee Theatre: “Roman Holiday”.
We’d be lovers caught in a dream of innocence, the night ours to play.
Great romance on a silver screen could give our own dalliance a wink.
Kiss her now, hold her now, look at those green eyes now, before they blink.
At Volunteer Landing, the lights of Gay Street Bridge melting in the water,
we’d snuggle and whisper our secrets and pick names for a future daughter.
We’ll make oaths to each other, vows od devotion we can’t help but break.
A moment in time this perfect drugs us and we forget what we have at stake.
Naked embrace after love making, my face in her golden hair, my mind calm.
The touch of another, and the dream of sex, is a devious and fruitful balm.
What if morning never came, and we only dreamed her forever, untroubled.
What if we could be as happy as this, our perfect hearts light mightily doubled