Creasing the Noon Hour

Spring breaks into the bones.

Like our first trip to Florida
when Coke was clear.

Seeing those palm trees
was like a great night's rest
when we first pulled in.


Today my tired eyes and tired fingers
are agreeing with the rest of me

in wanting nothing more.

Take the Few Hours

Take the ones you need
and gloss the night away.

Spend a lunch reworking the views
and squeeze a lime to let it

clarify where it needs to fit in
and trickle into the streets.

Spring Promises

There's a tank that I'll haul
to prove to the years
and to excite a calm embrace.

Together for us summer will come.
My ruby-throated arm will burst and bow.

I heard a Southern accent
in my tones last night so
things are slowing down.

See us in the wind.
See us eyes closed
with a basket in the wind.




© 2008, Jared Linzmeier

A Chair That Stays Still

Some days worth is judged in the hands.

Hands wrapped together on the forehead

and hair thoroughly gone through.

It's in the need to rest and the amount of hurt.

Pocket the sunglasses and cast off a button.




© 2008, Jared Linzmeier

Barely Then Hands Out

Is that an image meant to conjure
a frosty train window twinkling years gone by

or are you just happy to see me?

Your eyelids look different this season
now they're red like they were last fall.

Is that how much a back can hurt
stretches out on the wood floor out back

or are you watching me let go?

I've been simmered and sad and behaved
and hearing the fiery songs these summer-like days.



© 2008, Jared Linzmeier

All Awashing Station

The loose afternoon wills
that we recommend a day off

boogie til your boots break in,
but don't call in sick.

My breakfast ritual tasted
at least five years older today.

Waiting for Convenience

I'm avoiding the Lincoln Park office with
all my might that's for sure

and swinging down the street
singing stone blind love.

Bixel Street screamed go Dodgers in the scheme
and together it's broken dark pints

dearly akin to soccer potential
footballing royal blues.

The kids are back from Austin
glassy and fatigued: new breathing exercises

maybe they'll be ready for park fires
maybe they're dancing to the movies

maybe they'll remember garbage day now
or will burn from the ready gods at our heals out here.*

No one knows how to throw a punch anymore.





© 2008, Jared Linzmeier





*This line inspired by the poem "Los Angeles" by Charles Bukowski