Tuesday, December 30, 2014

Five miles south - from "Northwest Passage," pilot episode

Up towards a sign that reads,
"Welcome to Twin Peaks, Population 51,201,"
trees growing all around,

there are a few things
we ought to get straight:
the weatherman said rain and
I'm riding on fumes

five miles south of the
Canadian border, west of the state line,
and that girl they
pulled off the mountain, well,
I've learned this the hard way,
shaken, shaken.

Monday, December 29, 2014

In the lights - from "Northwest Passage," pilot episode

What has happened,
your attention missing
since last night.
I suffered the loss of emotion
in empty storms,
reckless wind
off the highway

in the lights.
I have decided that today
all work here will stop,
extend into thin life,
a black patch of speed.
Nightfall drapes the hallway,
a folded note of steep decline.

Perhaps I will be full
once again.

Sunday, December 28, 2014

In a dark thicket - from "Northwest Passage," pilot episode

I heard
she was the one,
standing bruised,
bra and panties and
bloodied bare feet.
To speak aimlessly,
choking back a
dark thicket is to cut
the oxygen in an act of
helpless care,
a dead state.

it is helpless
to give.

Wednesday, December 24, 2014

Signals - from "Northwest Passage," pilot episode

You were getting ready for bed,
prayers quietly urgent,
a fractured syntax of signals.
White-haired words
in the last night of rest,
you didn't come to
gently question comfort.
The body was found in words,
the loss of good wishes
to guide our thoughts,
halt the day.
You shut down,
returning to silence,
the red stress of abandon.

Tuesday, December 23, 2014

Collected Evidence - from "Northwest Passage," pilot episode

It would have been about
the time she fades,
interrogation an overhead light
to say goodnight,
close to asking
for an end.
It passes unobtrusively,
brushing her initials,
dreamy letters on an
unmade bed.
I can tell from the sounds
that it isn't her,
locked footsteps,
a diary of searching embossed
as collected evidence.
Do you have to take
my exchange?
Say anything into the camera.
I don't know where
the key is.

Saturday, December 20, 2014

Quiet concern - from "Northwest Passage," pilot episode

Gathered on a voice, breaking,
we come to rest,
raising destruction,
sleeve rolling down,
an injection of
discreet distance.
Discarding the syringe,
we stay on the photo,
questioning what time it was
you last saw silence.

Join me in observing
cold shoulders
covering up dear memory.
Compress the emotional,
a trophy of disbelief.
Another girl among the
quiet concern,
streaming the sedative
taking effect.

Monday, December 15, 2014

Fades of attention - from "Northwest Passage," pilot episode

You think we're gonna
talk about this later,
suspending a terrible moment
to slowly drift
down the corridor,
echoing arguments,
the announcement to come
through this.
I am in and out,
fades of attention,
the sound of empty glass.
We pass different rooms.
This is important.
Go ahead. Practice your
system of partitions
before we leave.
I have you
over yesterday,
out of voice.
Ask: May I have your cries?
Forward, we try.

Sunday, December 14, 2014

Tell me about the dead - from "Northwest Passage," pilot episode

Red-eyed behind the rumors
I arrange the morning
to be with you,
talk some more.
Laura Palmer's been killed,
found just after dawn
to say it'd be best if
it's all over.
Tell me about the dead,
the night, frightened of
what you didn't feel.
I didn't know why
I got upset and
you weren't where you were supposed to be.

Please call.
I got up early
just to understand.

Saturday, December 13, 2014

Bobby Briggs, they're looking for you - from "Northwest Passage," pilot episode

Something's up.
You think I'm kidding
covered with goosebumps,
the speed of fear calling the roll,

one empty seat in the room.
Could I speak to you for a moment, please?
Lights flashing, a haunted cluster
in the courtyard, mask unsettled.
Down to cruising speed,
accelerator off, sharing a
quivering lip, interior emotions
you can't continue.

Wednesday, December 10, 2014

Fade In - from "Northwest Passage," pilot episode

You called me last night
from around a corner
highly suggestive,
a dirty sigh
against the headrest,
an hour steep
into reverse.
What stage are we in now?
Relief collapses,
end act one,
a structure on the edge.
Close to memorial,
you sure talked me frantically
out of the house,
back to the road.

Sunday, December 7, 2014

Lucky Highway - from "Northwest Passage," pilot episode

She knows about us,
blushes under breath.
Change always rises
on time and
I gotta go.
Make sure no one is watching.

My dreams
a lucky highway
blaring home,
my car slightly guilty.
I could drop, embarrassed
easily exchange the old,
your only exit.

Saturday, December 6, 2014

Slim heart - from "Northwest Passage," pilot episode

Let me drive you
back towards a
young pause,
a letter jacket and
a ready high,
re-establish the
former points of beauty.

This grief, well-preserved,
rushes a wail
from inside,
forty year old cry you
understand as a doorway
to the other.

Warm up the slim heart.
We should go.

Thursday, December 4, 2014

Until I get there - from "Northwest Passage," pilot episode

On the phone in the kitchen
lighting another cigarette
I want the first hint of alarm,
want you to tell me to
calm down, darling,
I'm on my way home.

What's this about:
seeing it all unglued,
the morning overcome, then,
the number of one

Cover what you did, please.
Let's not walk towards the hysterical
until I get there.

Monday, December 1, 2014

Interpreter - from "Northwest Passage," pilot episode

Repeat what you told me:
that it never felt so good
to dissolve,
discreetly minimal
this quality of life
to rival red-shaded whispers.
Permit me a moment,
an interpreter at the head of
each sentence of your chest,
your right hand.
Proposed growth
stands on a map, ghostwood environs,
the air a concerned expansion
as you see the words.

Move to me.
The middle of
this excuse is a clean translation.
You'll see what I can offer.

Thursday, November 27, 2014

Nervous Sheath - from "Northwest Passage," pilot episode

I grasp thin recognition
by the shoulders,
bell-up hurt in background
consuming the white,
an immense hand
to silence a nervous sheath
of inner worry.
The bed has been slept in,
lace and black coffee a practice.
Late everyday, a verse, no chorus.
I have to re-establish access
to the bottom of the stairs,
don't want to mention
the urgent morning.

The grasp of a girl - from "Northwest Passage," pilot episode

I’m on my way
one line spinning
towards the door,
highway a camera,
the call to weep,
a closeup in contrast
to dawn.

What’ve we got?
A body at harsh angles,
awkward surroundings.

In the water,
distinctive wounds,
the girl’s wrist.

Who is she?
Face into view,
examine details.
Seeing her back
you want to turn,
a shy position.

Waiting on the edge,
we haven’t touched anything.
Our heads down,
the grasp of a girl’s end
passes above
as we back down.

Empty at the end of Highway 21 – from “Northwest Passage,” pilot episode

Cut to Black Lake,
a picture window at
water level,
a woman’s body
cautiously rugged.

A gap of dark,
the shores something horrible,
face down and bruised,
the first light of leather.

Empty at the end of
Highway 21,
seventeen and running onto the edge,
you don’t say a word to anybody,
seven fires shaking between the sun.

The Meadowlark – from “Northwest Passage,” pilot episode

In darkness
the sound of a
meadowlark’s song
between two mountains,
Whitetail and Blue Pine, the Twin Peaks.

In the shadow downtown
no sign of life,
empty stretch of road
backlit by a bright eye and
beak of the bird,
an early rising littered
with last night’s trash.

Dawn cycles,
slow moving from green
to yellow to red,
a sober ballad slightly run down
imposing granite,
images of white neon,
night shift kick.

Fade in,
react to the kiss,
the meadowlark silk lost
in a dreamy state of mind.

Look outside, idle vanity
caught across the gravel.
Open, automatic expression
about to drop.

You hold on,
stay right there.