96 Bags of Rocks

from Perfect Sleeping Weather by Larry Fulford

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Perfect Sleeping Weather (the book) (signed)
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Scrawled into notebooks from the familiar comforts of temporary homes and the passenger seats of mechanically unsound vehicles adrift on the highways and back roads of America, Perfect Sleeping Weather is fifteen years of thoughts, observations, facts, and fictions hammered into a collection of poetry that, according to one reader, "sounds like a sigh."

In this, his first book, writer/drummer/comedian Larry Fulford reflects on the usual -- life, death, love and leaving -- while still managing to name-check Van Halen. Twice.

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lyrics

The centerpiece of an uncomfortable triangle table
in a different city.
Tonight cops are stationed at the tents to keep would-be
art thieves from snatching generic still lifes.

Nature (is astonishing)
seascapes
horses in fog by trees
in this city.

Barflies speak
bar fights break out accordingly.
I am a walking shadow, a pedestrian by choice
and because the car is but a few blocks away.

Somebody bought a gun
because somebody is throwing away
the box of a gun case.

For one birthday, I broke a heart and,
for another, I volunteered my own
and my time
immobile in a deserted home
in a different city
where a headless Mary stands guard
to keep would-be soul thieves
from walking off with the best of us
and two churches
(I think I write “and” too much)
to patch together trivial thoughts,
aimless as the shadow I was
marching to my car parked a few blocks away.

The drive-in thanks you, Mayor!

I dragged my hand along a picket fence —
brown, not white, as some cliché junkies
might’ve hoped — and expected splinters
or at least one, really long splinter.
I was spared
like the ex-stray I cradle when he lets me.

Like now.