Saturday of no demands. A day like every day More of the same, less of the same. Newspaper pages turning As the Sun cast shadows through the French door pane. All kindle for the coming burning On a day beginning… Read More ›
Month: November 2013
Flake of Snow
I once Was a flake of snow. Fell a mile or so Down As wintery wind began blowing, Sighing Between houses dusting white And trees wearing wedding gowns At midnight. Down Farther than roof tops, Swirling around Above the… Read More ›
Bikers
Bikers are all the same, Dress alike, not really tough When fearing rain. Their women, Heartsick and rough, Breasts of better days Hold on to their man. Freedom is just an exhaust When believing Riding is enough. Sometimes You have… Read More ›
Overlook
Am I to shun the squirrel who raids the bird feeder? Set traps to block its path Cause he can climb the tree to where it hangs Above the grass now covered in snow? Is it really about feeding the… Read More ›
Sometimes Twilight Does Not Appear
Sometimes twilight does not appear. Moments before dawn or after sunset It does not show, Does not relieve hope or despair Before or after Earth’s longer spin is met. It does not glow a soul’s blue light Before night is… Read More ›
Going Out
Going Out He softens his stash with conditioner In case his lips are kissed. Chews mint gum for breath In case his tongue is met. Deodorizes, adds a scent with cologne, Presses clothes, And straightens the home to show no… Read More ›
The Wind
The wind, Prankster of October leaves Swirling under a magician’s wand. Taking from branches and limbs That once reached out in the summer sun Full of dreams, and enclosing our days When love was young. Limbs picked by chilling… Read More ›
The Whore in the Ford
The Whore in the Ford All her belongings piled to the back window. Obstructing past visions of her abandoned sons in the rear view mirror. Her flea market on wheels, ready for unloading at the next man’s place. The… Read More ›
Black Walnut Creek
Black Walnut Creek A winter brook flows to Warmer, muddier waters. What we call Love, eternal babblings over stones, Flushing into spaces of courts and divisions Around the bay. A body handles Only so many transfusions, And each heart… Read More ›
Huckleberry Pound
I can only scribble about myself and my time. Tell about growing up in a dive tavern in a bad neighborhood, Southeast Washington D.C., but little of the politics of that Marble City surrounding me. It is just… Read More ›
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