Frank Possemato
Hallways

My friend John Lee,
a bottom-dweller just like me,
to clam the long-life misery
watches his chances come and go
mostly go.

We met on Cemetery hill
in the neighborhood
that I life still
where the darkness
of the dimly lit existence
never ceases
to kill.

Here in this place
of many places
inspiration gets too long
in the heavy-eyed gas station lights
where thoughts go through your head
mostly unsaid.

John will take his stand
by the runway
one open-ended night
but until then
the best life
is one you can walk away from
obviously

and I
I've been an evangelist
a collector a thief
a player
a stranger in the alley
a brother
a son

and if I cant win you
with my self-destructive smile
then you just caught me
in the rain season
it will all be clear
when I come back to all the put-off things
mostly never

but when the restlessness is all you know
with that ragged, start-over
feeling in your throat again,
pretend
with your fictional friends,
that the distance can be measured in miles
but the end is so ridiculously
out of sight.

Sweet Lady
we could be married in the spring
you're in waiting
just like me,
we could keep the brightness of living
always

but that's just the best intentions
getting in the way
so I'll choke on nostalgia
or exaggerate it out of existence
but when you look at me
like you're the only one who can stop the
flood
what else can I do

the meanwhile confusion
can put to death our short-sleeved dreams
leave only the bleak
sand hills and dust fields
leaves you with reason to think
we'll all be cut down
by the daily struggles and tragedies
mostly small

but keep the sight
keep the day light
we're both chasing the same thing,
from the backyard
to the boulevard
every hour
and every cent,
to walk deliberately
and not walk alone
mostly forever.

untitled

My father used to say the black at night
was God's fingerprint covering the sky
that it was different every night,
actually he never said that
and neither did the Native Americans
but it would have been nice
if someone did
like it would be nice
if you could
go through life
with something to show
for years of serving
the country, the public
the Aegon
and all you're left with for it
is a grave that sticks
in the earth
like you know those little plastic things
they stick in cupcakes
around Halloween or Thanksgiving
the little turkeys or pumpkins or skeletons
or whatever the hell they are
you know
when I was four or six
or twenty-one I remember thinking
that I pulled out a year too soon
a life too late
that the boy is father
to the man all down the street
but as best I can here's wishing you
a teary-eyed sick to your stomach start-over good
morning
a glow of life at the loss of success
cause I never really was
the best in math
or dancing or breathing
but now the sun forgets to set sometimes
and though I never really got it
now physics is easy
now physics is beautiful:
you're here and everything else
is someplace else

Back to Issue 2, 1999