Tired Monk: Dawn

abbess up
those early hour
still dark duties
beckon

tired monk
rolls robe deep
dreams trickle back:
skateboarding...surfing...

temple dogs
storm the bed
abbess looks in ...laughs

Fran's Smile

one car -  one street town
Jack gives up
his shotgun rights
slips in the backseat
beckoned by Fran's smile

the tired monk's match

late summer wrestling
full of  those
old small town
Jameson dropkicks

this robe cincher
this loin girder
this sleeve roller
coming outta
the corner...crazed

throwing looping fists
clenching headlocks
at this metaphor
this universe
this one story

he knows the outcome
of this match
this eternal match
was booked long ago

L

just an old L
no fancy 50
more like
an empty box of beer
tucked n'hidden
under basement stairs

in your city

i'm in your city
but we don't meet

behind that desk or
on Conners Hill

crowd of thousands
dreadlock thick

across the street
guitar strapped back

passing unknown
like any tired monk

summer debris

summer debris

not all beach balls, tents,

fishing poles

paint flecked robes n'rollers

worn remnants

tucked behind the shed

monk's market

early morning, market opens
old tired monk
wanders stall to stall
basket brims:
peppers, carrots, ginger...
one last stop
fish
to fill this one bowl