Sinking to Fame


The road led nowhere.

Adjacent to the fire a street person stood suspended.

“If you wanna go somewhere,

it has to come from within.

Transcend, my friend,”

He said while smiling – missing some teeth.


The Cadillac was metallic green.

At least that’s what it looked like in

the night of an illuminated winter moon.

We’re all December’s children. A walk around

a thick forest of naked trees w/ frozen dark velvet bark -

And in-between the branches show pockets of a brilliant sky.

Life so alive it often hurts; graffiti on the poet’s tombstone -

The smell of rabbits being roasted carrying

through in a French graveyard enticing the cold stranger.


The green Cadillac was a 1972.

It sank to the bottom of the water –

Headlights pointing up at the surface –

Taillights glaring at the bottom feeders –

Amateur scrap metal – Slow sinking,

drifting in swift currents of love and death.

Good – better – best – gone – goodbye unsaid.

Aquatic organisms fed with delight.

The shining lights created manifestations of tiny

gossamer like threads resembling energy filaments.

In the deep end, transparent bubbles

in multitudinous structure dancing like rain.

A visceral lamp engulfed by unnerving water.


We still love you – battlefield soldier;

the haunting path of the peaceful warrior

echoing the sinking of cars in rivers and lakes.

And in this enigmatic vain,

roses are in bloom once more again

along the sandy shores of the river’s bend –

Yes, you are there too in the rebirth of seasons.

No one has to talk – there’s no need.

We just understand one another.


January 7 2004