GOODBYE ECHO

Sleep well above
the crystal stars of Hibbing
where the cynical minstrel
smoked cigarettes on your sofa
while listening to
Jimmy Rodgers.
How much did you miss him,
Echo, when he traded in
the icy winters of Minnesota
for the neon nights
of New York City?
Something tells me
he remembers and,
even as we speak,
I'm guessing he's picking up
his guitar to write more
about the winds
& where they hit heavy
on the borderline.

 

  

ICY RIVER


            “I am a rock. I am an island.”

                                                --Paul Simon

 
I’m the kind of man

who hunts grief down

in the rain-slick streets

of a downtown night

and screams

I’m not afraid of you.

I eat devastation

for breakfast.

The bankrupt business.

The lost pet.

The girlfriend

who dumped you.

The unfaithful spouse.

Death. Loss. Tragedy.

None of it matters.

And rest assured,

that the single tear

you see working its way

down my cheek

like a rivulet

from icy river

means nothing.