Imaginary Blackout With Claude Monet

for Bryan Mickle

to speak in light of light like the wine spilled on
the chromatic tracks of Stockon's suicidal
outskirts

or harmonicas of wind and your need to piss
out the boxcar door onto Merle
Haggard's half-masted shadow

what you always said 'bury your wine'
before hitting that main stem
never nothing about what brush

I should use on her face to restore the codeine
in her eyes that killed the pain for the
very first time

Claude we're getting old as we wait for
this next train of colors
ashamed of our own signatures

I had that dream again man the one I had
back in Philly were I stood there with
all those postcards in my arms

with all your paintings on them only I wasn't
staring at that heat shimmered highway
it was your gravestone that was shimmering

and for the very first time I felt lost like you
were'nt my road dawg no more like someone
captured you in a book

but then I read the inscription and it was all
right they got it fucking right so perfect
and I woke up feeling righteous brother



ONE THING ABOUT IT
I AIN'T GOT NO
WARRANTS
HERE