untitled No.2

On the playground 
near the picnic tables 
we'll be the best of friends 
until the game is up,
the sun retreats  
and shadows break hard 
over boundaries
once so easy to discern.
Still, the rules are there
to be ignored,
like homework on the slate board.

Players in a seasonal pageant, .
we are. The children
of our own misgivings.
Soon enough the voices call
announcing curfew for us all
and they are not so easily deflected.

So, will I turn the table over,
scattering plastic slugs
and penalty cards before
I concede to defeat?
There is no tally of the score.
I won't regret another loss.
The end is simply preordained
and it's always fun and friendly
until everyone gets hurt.

blood and ice cream

Pretty is not the word to describe her
Hinting only at a larger truth.
Beauty is an epic masterwork
in chalk on rainy pavement.
A cruel condition of
her probation - like an ankle monitor,
reporting her whereabouts to philosophers,
court physicians and men of God

Someday is a promise
Empty and frail as fragrance
imprinted on a lonely pillowcase
or lip gloss on a plastic cup.
Tomorrow is a memory,
a tantrum of blind possessive desire.
Think on that
when she forgets you,
waiting in the sun
on the heat of the sidewalk,
the ice cream dripping on your shoes
and realize you would lie to that cop's face,
grab his angry gun
and die in the struggle
if called upon, to aid in her escape.
If blood and ice cream
are all you have to offer
and even they are not enough.


[Halt! Who goes there? Please feel feel to comment constructively.]

untitled No.1

I want to listen to the sound
of your fingers pressing
against the strings, false notes intact;
live, without amplification.
That is your voice, the story
that is you in all your glorious
and sacred imperfection. 
Read to me aloud from
the book of your life
a chapter at a time.
And when you are done,
start over from the beginning.
A never ending melody.
You don't need to be draped
in doll clothes or walk on stilts
to merit attention.

Your simple essence curls up
and purrs against my spine-
Pale bare legs and cotton khaki.
Sparkling water and crooked smile - 
thrilling me more than some sideshow
or spectacle; more soothing than
any ceremonial rite.

Sea Legs

To where is this schooner bound?
Are we at the mercy of the currents
and the wind?
It sometimes feels like
we are sailing alone, you and I,
with only the stars over head
to guide us. And then an angler
hooks the sun and drags it from
out of the water
and I see the other travelers
on board all around us
weighing heavy upon this feckless craft.

We did not book passage together.
But it seems our travel plans were
crossed by agents well beyond
the line of our horizon.
I will call you by whatever name
you wish; stay beside you
though rough seas and ocean storms
stress the frail vessel to which we cling.
And if, when we reach a port of call,
this voyage ends, I will remember
the joy of even that one moment
shared with you beneath the stars.

at the edge

Friends that find me here
at the edge of the volcano,
balanced on one heel,
are quick to offer the steady hand
and the knowing nod.
Relax.  I have already heard
the warning shots trumpet
like a fanfare from the symphony
of self preservation,
and it doesn't insulate me
from molten heat
or save me from the fall
if I lose friction.
The game has always been fixed
but that's because the rules are broken.
Everyone wants to win 
even if their desires remain unspoken.
So all you can do is wish me luck
and, if I slip and tumble below the rim;
if I disappear from
this place of spectator safety,
say adios and console yourselves
by knowing I'll only get what I deserve.
But all I have is worthless
until I have given it away.

Baby looks good in blue.

Baby's gone in too deep
she's livin' on fruit loops
and given up sleep.
But no need to offer, cause
there ain't nothing much you can do.
Baby looks good in blue.

She frequents the circus
just to frustrate the clown.
she's been up there so long
she'll convince you it's down
There's got to be hundreds
of hues to go round
and go through.
Baby just looks good in blue

Yeah, Baby looks good in blue
she's not crying crocodile tears
The reptiles lie down just to
be in her shoes.
When her mood's dark enough
for the national news
And the weather report gets overcast, too.
Baby looks good in blue.

There once was a girl with
tats on her wrist
(Baby looks good in blue)
She quotes lines in language
that doesn't exist
(Baby looks good in blue)
Then she beats on the stage
till she bloodys her fists
but she never misses a cue
Yes, Baby looks good in blue.

[who is reading? please feel feel to comment constructively.]

Surprise Me

Whatever's in the heart of you,
surprise me.
Can't seem to make a start with you,
surprise me.
You  mystify my every plan
you keep me wondering what to do.
Been like this since it all began
I think I have you pegged and you
surprise me.

If mercy means a thing to you,
surprise me
Reveal to me the real you,
surprise me.
I'd like to share the mystery
Behind the secret of your smile
I wish you felt the same for me
But I think you don't.
Oh, won't you please surprise me?

What's hidden deep within your heart?
Surprise me.
This waiting tears me all apart.
surprise me.
I stumble over bluff and blind
and still I can't make heads or tails
I think that you've made up your mind
Then all else fails
and again I realize
how deeply you surprise me.



[who is reading? please feel feel to comment constructively.]