regional silverware

we got a coupon

expires February 31^st

some days i hope i last that long

others, not past the 23^rd,

four days of revealing

the darkened corners

of three year old unfinished business,

one day of draining

into a slowly cooling tub

(but i’ve not got it in me,

that roman trip that falls

on a well placed blade,

just before being conquered

i know it.

christ nick,

i’m not sure you had it either

if not for the drugs)

when you throw up

and it’s made of well cut diamonds,

rare as the Strangemorning,

hot as the things hiding behind the sun –

don’t you think you’ve peaked,

doesn’t a glass half full become quite a boring issue?

but there are ridiculous beats

that bring us out of winter

bass drums that make it warm

milwaukeeans who aren’t always drinking

humid and dry and nowhere inbetween,

peter, peter, making stew,

pete, you’ve got a lila blue

and a room of chops,

shaken in a glued-down chair

green lights on a road of stops

small car with curious hands

quick stops for pissing

long times for wide states

signs, the welcomes of governors

at night, in the rain

through eastern pennsylvania

up and down again,

through jersey and her bastard trucks

toward the ocean

seldom seen

near the hudson

far from clean

belly up, the less of luck

some misplaced loudmouth

spouting at the wrong fuck

shaking his fists and dying his death in a cold arrival.

i’m here to see it

i’m here to want home and enjoy the one i’ve made

i’m here to raise the whisper of a midwestern spoon

to the curdled scream of an east coast blade.