Collected Poems of Carl Sandburg

the jacket is on the
floor of my bedroom and the
book is in my bag
but I just carry it around and forget it's there

and rarely read it

love is like a
receipt in 
your back pocket

you forget about it
put your pants in the wash 
and later find pieces of crumpled, faded 
paper in the 
lint trap of your dryer.

limbo

hallways are
portals that lead to
two trapdoors.

still another hour until Jeopardy

the bartender shoots shit with the few sad-looking patrons. miserable, half-empty, 6pm. bad light making it's way from an Iron City neon, through the cloud of blue smoke hanging in the air like a ghost.

still another hour until Jeopardy and I
sing "White Christmas" into the neck of my bottle.

trout fisherman.

I find myself thinking about a ship sinking as I fill an ice cube tray and losing count of things, like the nine scoops to make a pot of coffee, very easily.

cherry red

burns to carbon grey

begging to be flicked

tossed into the ashtrays of tomorrow

and the next day is

waiting just like

today

to be put out.

only to be seen again in

rewind

as I tie the knot

around the trash bag.

I drove by a florist today

that had a van parked out front with

"We Deliver Love"

painted on its side.

they have never knocked

on my 

door.

my mail box is

full of junk and

bills.

that could be love.

only if love

took

Sundays off like the

United States Postal Office does.