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She said she felt like
a fairy princess, draped in
blue with beaded swirls.
Formally over
twelve years of learning to look
good on this one night.
In it she was arm
candy, someone that turned heads
unexpectedly.
Our waitress admits
the town has its share of ghosts.
We sleep with lights on.
She curls around the
baby like a spiral shell
protecting its snail.
One piece would last for
hours and have few calories.
(I’m working on it.)
From a Revealing
start to this auspicious point -
my life in short form.
Night winds roar like a
giant parent screaming “Go
to sleep!” without words.
Vegans, stay away,
lest your firm resolve melt from
tender smoked brisket.
Slanting through speckled
panes, turning cobwebs into
faerie gossamer.
Muddy quads, walls bare
of ivy still inspire awe.
Can we get in?
Ph.D.s waitress
here, M.A.s babysit, ’cause
no one wants to leave.
Hills like cut paper
black against tissue blue skies.
Through poked holes, stars shine.
Unaware of her
beauty, unselfconsciousness
gives each movement grace.
Geeks transformed into
leading men stop hearts, but then
revert back next day.
From an estate sale -
pendulum clock. Westminster
chimes now count my days.
Tourists whisked to the
top while on tenant floors, one
hears “shhhhhhsss” like secrets.
Like a jeweler
displaying gems on velvet
wealth gleams beyond reach
On a cluttered Queens
balcony he stands, watching
the complex decay.
Just over five months
This one four hundred fifty
Art or wasted time?
Today J begins
flying not yet a driver
the sky’s the limit
Dreams of Oscars like
sugarplums dance in their heads.
Hollywood’s Christmas.
Kid in candy shop
I dab on product in search
of my true colors.
TV morphs into
loser land infomercials
for acne weight loss
Drove to the city
to shop eat sushi buy fun
things that make us smile.
Her breath sounds like the
whistle of distant trains bound
for lands beyond dreams.
I go into the
booth knowing the past, making
the future my choice.
Dawn the breath of a
new day paused when night exhales
sunrise dimmed by fog.
Sleep comes like a tide.
Evenings at home, we drift off
heads back, mouths open.
I stop posting in
the blogosphere. No one reads
me. Do I exist?
Today was her last
day on a job I said ‘don’t
quit’ two years ago.
Cruzan pineapple
flavored rum makes happy hour
even happier.
Intense turquoise, the
water is a wake-up call
to swim, sun, sail, dream.
Sleep gently takes you,
like the lethal injection
you cannot resist.
I burn candles and
incense. Maintain silence. Find
myself in nothing.
Sometimes, the hunger
that compels you to eat a
cookie is sadness.
Soldiers wear helmets.
Women wear makeup, styled hair.
Our mode of defense.
The house of my heart
is white, clean, pure. No windows,
doors. No visitors.
Making travel plans,
like getting dressed for a date,
is a leap of faith.
TV’s “Fisherman
and His Wife” story for our
times. Unalloyed greed.
Inside the snowglobe
winter’s still life settles as
flakes swirl in the air.
Viriconium,
Gormenghast, Majipoor. Dark
journeys. Twisted dreams.
Small delicate word
studies of a larger life
viewed by an artist.
Gently falling stars,
nature’s sand slipping through the
hourglass of winter.
She’d buy Free People,
match and mismatch carelessly,
revel in oddball.
J’s Pied Piper calls.
Mecca of offbeat fashion,
she shops in a daze.
They create out of
nothing whole scenes, entertain
from mere suggestions.
The Windy City
carries aloft a million
dreams on fierce updrafts.
Windows at Lord &
Taylor gleam with holiday
scenes. Small worlds of joy