friday morn black dogs
begin to rear their head
what once looked forward to
now another well of dread
joy falling through fingers
like sand through a grate
eating scraps left by dogs
off stained broken plates
a character within my mind
pills no more than props
wishing for a script to find
before the last beat  drops




lost between white clouds
and rabid black dogs barking
soul seeks only peace

sounds heard on a summer sunday night

the crackling pop
of lumber burning
the crunch
of a graham cracker
in a little mouth
the crisp snap
cervesa in a can
the sizzle of the drizzle
that wouldn’t stay away
the thud of car doors
and airplanes in descent
tires on wet pavement
neighbors dog disturbed
my black dogs now sleeping
beer and cigarettes
and the company of others
left them sleeping
in the soul kitchen
another can snaps
another ember pops
an offering
to the music gods
yielded ivory
then hard bop trumpet
and god made the rain stop
because you were all alone
drum solo
awakens the soul
saxophone lullaby
embers slowly churning
water drips
beneath the pit
steam gallantly rising
and the court of six
sits empty