Jose Rizal Bridge

Stripped of humanity
near the green bridge across the city,
the lights the boxes are blinking
Happy Birthday, Baby!
Baby, look up
Baby, look over the edge
of the green bridge over what was a meadow in it's youth

There are tents there now, by the edge of the freeway
where a man and his proverbial dog, loyal, hide
from the rain, lighting butt after butt
of burnt up cigarette, found
in the Jack in the Box parking lot

Devoid of humanity
the city dogs bark, drowned
out by the city sirens, concubines of disaster
caressing Baby to sleep
Look over, look out over the Sound, big sky

Baby shakes to sleep, warm,
asleep to the man and his cold dog
shivering together to the sounds of city sirens
detecting with noses a moment of urine, warmth
of the last cigarette ember falling asleep, big sleep, cold in the hand
that'll never redeem another dirty dream
that'll never be red of another dirty deed
that'll never inch down on the softness of skin
that'll never faux toss towards man's best friend
that'll never caress Baby again

than what?

Life doesn't get easier,
not the way you'd want
or you'd expect.
Who wants an easy life
anyways? Not me,
I assure you.
No, an easy life is one
devoid of all points
of interest.
I myself wouldn't ask
for a life made easier
than mine,

except...

Maybe it'd be nice
if just one thing
could be easy.
Not easier than something,
just easy by itself,
without irony.
Let something arrive
unasked for
once.
Let it slide into life
with liquid
ease.

Conjunctions (collage poem)

Filtered water, I miss. You?
Triple threat. I think. That wrong
soft, between yeses,
honest, I have you. Self-control?
Obviously. Oh, choices to make,
me too, but you too, would
my conjunctions have easier
lives, wrong. I am off with my
imaginary head, life is wrong?
Without you, without conjunctions,
yes, oh, I remember! I know, I know
love, but I meant to say, but
to be okay, but for us to--that's
not what I meant in the least, but

The Dust

Feet dipped slowly
into a cold mountain spring,
washed gently of the
aching accumulation of day.

The water: ancient
flows new from the rock
near freezing and
timid in the filtered light.

Drink of the sun
and carry the dust away.
Tender green shoots
await the gift borne
upon your silver neck.