I Used to Walk the Streets on Saturday Night Watching
I used to walk the street on Saturday night watching
neon signs in rain and the boys in their cars wailing.
I used to cruise the strip for hours wondering
where the strip began, and was the rain wasting time

 in glistening trees and seas of gutters swelling.
Where is the night and the long street weaving?
Where I would sit in cafe windows waiting
for my lonesome love to come toward me swaying.

In rooms I've sat for hours. Wallowing
in rain. I've walked alone within the winding
of rain, and of cars, and of sad girls weeping
alone. On the road when bars close, wanting

 the almost willowing girls with lost thoughts wishing
the night's only long thought whisking them
out from neon red signs and out from under seas of rain.
By rain and signs of rain I have wandered and waited.

 My eyes, on lines of streets have woven and wondered.
My heart was left in beds, rain drenched and whistled.
Just as rain has been my tears , some wet fresh wish
kisses leaves, kisses the flood wet heart , tastes the whisper

 of rain on the long street's breath, woos
the willing angels down, mud weaned, water
weary, wet winged, reckless.

 Mike Sullivan,'88

4 seasons, 20 some poems
poems for the end of the last Century
a few linX, phrases, and the odd, malleable editiorial
etching.aquatinting.viscosity printing.silkscreen.linocut
all that + computer
resume~ email ~ ~sign ~view book ~ rings