Cacophony Of Voices

My room is an abyss
windows blackened
with construction paper.

I lie alone, awaiting
enlightenment, incense
burning sickly sweet.

Apparitions of people
appear, examine me
with physician eyes,
determine the dimensions
of my dementia.

I do not see them.
Instead, they chatter
while they work
their of voices
blistering my brain.

The process is slow,
but eventually I will
tear the covering
from my windows,
flood the room with light,
and become invisible.

Four Views Of Allen Lake

This is no hallow place
it is pasture land and that is all.
Why do I find myself at it
in times of trial?
And have since November ‘97
10:00 pm–20 degrees
steam rising in phantom sheets
off the hood of my car.
Even when I am nowhere near
I still find myself drawn here,
always with the same question…


I walk the gravel trail
adjacent to the water’s edge
noticing the broken beer bottles
and charred remains
of a previous night’s exuberance.
A five-leafed marijuana plant
spotlighted in the moonlight
makes me laugh. It is no weed.
More likely the remnants
of someone’s cheap bag–
perhaps they are growing it–
another laugh. I consider
crushing the plant under the heel
of my shoe. It cannot help me,
it is out of the question…


At this distance it is difficult
to hear the semi-trucks
on Highway 56, the drivers
No Dozing their way across America
I look back at the ’90 Chevy Beretta
parked next to the boat dock,
just able to make out its maroon doors.
I have been here before.
Am I dreaming now?
Is that the question…


The moon falls in the lake,
is Li Po drinking again?
Should I try and save him?
I pick up a flat stone and
sidearm it over the water’s surface,
letting my emotions ride eddies
into the horizons.
There are two moons; similarly,
there are two of me,
each a reflection of the other.
I look up as if to ask myself:
what face will you wear?
Already knowing that I am
asking myself again:
what face did you wear,
when you looked to the sky?


From the outside
looking in

this appears
to be a normal place,
but nothing is
normal about it.

Objects move,
and philosophers
feverously grind words
to their nubs.

How much a ticket?
how long a ride?
do not ask these questions.
Save your money
for the cinema;

you would not
like it here. Stand back
telescoping the madness
that takes place–

for there are those
who, once walking on water
never again touch dry land.

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