Midnight Stroll

October 6, 2015

It was the same song
Each and every night:
She arose and walked
Along the rocky path
Through the park to
Where she had died.

Her first time there,
Of course, would be
Her last. There was
No malice in her end,
Though she certainly
Wasn’t happy now.
Some folks have it
Far worse than being
Struck by a city bus.

As she strolls silently,
She takes note of the
Wandering souls still
Made of flesh, all still
Breathing, in and out.
She sighed to herself:
“I miss having blood.”

It was an odd thought,
Even for a ghost. She
Had simply meant that
There was a certain
Vitality to it, having it all
Coursing through you,
Every moment a lifetime…
And a certain emptiness
When it’s all gone.

Her pale face turns,
Once again, to face the
Bus that is no longer there.
Perhaps next time she will
Look both ways first.


Metro August

August 5, 2009

finally, an overcast day
I never thought I would
look forward to grey skies
this city showed me
a new face this summer
besides the hot breath of
a blistering July night
I have seen the city’s
black eyes and bruises
watching drug deals from
the back row of a
green and yellow
metallic caterpillar
an old man sips brandy
beneath restaurant windows
fetid steam rises from
manhole covers and notes
float along Pike from a
homeless man’s cello
my emerald city holds up
two sides of itself
one, the shining hipsters
drinking indie coffee and
listening to indie music
and the other, a twisted
underbelly that smells like
seaweed and coffee grounds
lines slowly blur together
to form a smoky cloud
where I can no longer tell
one side from the other
damn I love Seattle