arc of an arrow

the time

when I held the ‘rents

to blame

for everything

then I moved on some

took it all on

my own shoulders

habits good & bad


leanings to & against

whatever you got

& more

& all the time the arrow

was flying

seeking home


for me to finally understand

I am a mixed up volume

of writings

from those before

those I meet along the way

& my own jottings

first in crayon then pen

carved in wood & stone

as my hands got stronger

peace to come

the problem with lover fights

is how

they throw stuff at you

in gobbets

huge arcs of flame

wanting to strike

find the wounded niche

where the scold can take hold

& they find me walking

I tell myself

them too

I’ll sit & listen to whatever you got

but start this screaming throwing stuff

& I’m gone

but they never believe


the room is empty

I’ve had them chase me down the street

throwing clothes out of windows

doing the c’mere come back

so I can hurt you more tango

calling me chickenshit for running away

but after that first corner

I can’t hear them anymore

I find a quiet bar

& wait for peace to come

listening to the sea

times I’ve lain here

listening to the sea

feeling the waves

I’d surfed today

moving me still

mind pictures of a wave

backlit by sun as three tuna

arced in & I dived deeper

under canvas (nylon)

as the rain pattered

hoping this was leakproof

under tarpaulin with friends

no money & miles to get home

with people I wished

I had never brought here

their ghosts now to stink the place up

in a camper laughing

as the rain hit the roof

thinking how times alters life

windows open listening

to the sea

some things

they never change