I. He Quick stepping and waltzing Precise as a surgeon cuts into The body, like a first kiss. Her softness ages his face. Speech fails him, words Slurred with the stroke of An unset clock stuttering Her number in the dark. His hand reaches under her breast Bone tapping out a beat Inside her hallowed […]Read more
Dancing towards me He cuts in and I’m removed like a tumor With his sharpened scalpel Dripping with the blood of anger. I do a lonely limbo for him Bent under my fears and sharp pain My back broken from comparisons To exotic island breasts Atop trained heel high legs. Sinking into the dance floor […]Read more
Her brittle old tortoise shell prescriptions Blur a head of softly graying curls He needs a cut, she whispers, always to herself. Anyone in or not in the grocery store line that afternoon. Recognizing Cantaloupe, honeydew, whole milk Lettuce heads and newly sprouted wheat, and Baby spinach asleep in the sway of her basket. A […]Read more
While difficult, it’s necessary: Please forget whatever you’ve learned. Simply cast off far as your reach allows Catch right out of your murky memory Blue fins, red snappers, orange roughy. Back farther still to the new golden oven Our kitchen clock never learned the truth. A fast 2/4 beat jazzy dancing Upbeat, and a seductively […]Read more
Somewhere even here – a shelter, a safe haven embraces the “we,” the self corrected and wall-taught flowers, who grow and peek over the garden fence. (Who did we think we were, anyway?) If we like what we see, we tilt up towards the dim sun, and grow taller than our environs to open up […]Read more
In cloudy skies we can point to everything,
To find similarity and we described it
In high school English to empty the milk cartons of meaning.
Gentlemen reflect in receding ice cubes and
Swinging across Elm into urbanite cock fights.
Floating, melting into her whiskey colored eyes
The missus distributes disambiguated dinners
With a side of dry rye wit