That darling cobra
Is back
Between midnight and three
Hiding among
Bright Green
Rice paddy sprouts
Where I am up to my neck
In dark water waiting
For the sniper to find me

I wake sweating
The pillow is drenched
I reach for the hidden
KA-BAR
The seven inch blade
Of the fighting knife
Soothes

The years blur together
One moment Im the dancing maitre d
The next
A teacher suffering
From a plague of surly students

What use is a BA
MFA
Earned with honors
Paid for by the GI Bill

Sometimes I am
My mother at thirty-four
Chopping off the head of a chicken
Getting sprayed with blood

The flash of an Instamatic
Puts me in a threadbare
White T-shirt shaving
At three in the morning
Singing Caruso

The lathered face
In the mirror
Is my fathers
Who dug ditches
And placed bets with the mob

When he was born
His mother died
My grandfather
College educated
A corporate
Senior vice president
Fell into a bottle of beer

He never came out
Love can do that

My dreams are driving
Down the freeway
Without me
The front tires find ruts
Left by eighteen wheelers
A monotonous rhythm results
Sort of a thud thud thud
As if one of the tires
Is getting ready to spin off
To find its own route
Next to the fast lane

I am tired of these
god-damned reruns
How about a variety

Wheres my dead
Brother
That spent
Years
In front of
Or
Behind bars
Why cant I dream
About him

The early morning news shouts
About jalapenos from
Someone elses life
I wonder what
These spicy voices
Are trying to tell me

That life doesnt come
with punctuation marks