Excitement comes tickling up the back
of worn knees,
asleep, a tiny beutel betrayal we fall out of our chairs,
and bask in the blue green glow.

Morally Acceptable?
A medium rare sun pokes it’s head out from underneath the covers and shouts,
“Write me a Love Poem!”
Dubious wisdoms squeaks out,
look out he’s close to the knives,
sharpened on the corners of bony hips,
and wetted on linens of honey skin
and robot princesses.

Blood in the pool,
dances on imaginary waves of curly hair,
and they rest above on inflatable conversations,
none to careful with their razor blade sunglasses,
or needle point irony.

Sploosh.

Forgotten Laundry
mountain climbing with the boys
still no skull fractures
—–

There is a whole in his heart were their coffee used to brew,
home made pizza with too many capers
and ridiculous knitted socks,
kindness is muscular arms attached to a curly beard
and a woman who doesn’t quite approve with green eyes.

Laughter flaps around the room, staying away from the charlie brown
christmas tree, and nibbling chocolate and olives
while shooting Raki and making crudes jokes about
cabins and what’s for breakfast.

There are no late night stories of back slapping and
dreams of Turkey,
climbing the sunlit cliffs and eating figs, de-wormed but not demeaned,
he remembers these gifts,
trifles consumed and men dancing,
reflexively in the moon light.

There are no evening promises
over broken bread and kind words,
Now Turkish has crept into his tongue
and it trembles with the weight of lions.

Aslan pads out and up and over, Hadi! Hadi! Hadi!
Swept up like the kitchen on fire,
when they are without shame everything is beautiful,
from burnt counter tops to drunk friends
tripping over tables.

Sunset and snow drifts,
cold breath on the sea cliffs hanging on to finger tips.
This blood called their bridge steeped in tea,
fed with home made pizza,
sun dried tomatoes
and too many capers.

Delicious.

hay fever or cold through a tick tocking
in the sinus of old snake handlers,
mechanical marionettes like sparrows
barging into clean plane glass,
the marriage of teeth and eye,
then we can count on no more
eyeteeth battles over second hand sweaters,
wound tight like forearms muscles
reaching for hortatory strawberrys,
that is exactly how she sits there,
reading.
Grinding it all up in her gears and spitting out
the pits of suffering and ugly english,
setting the barrels to ring out
in alarm against the spread,
of said,
seeds of sorrow.

Danger fish walks into a bar,
metal on scale and slime,
a fillet knife of distance between dinner and a life of promises,
which drip drip drip down a needle of white fenced dreams,
simmered in the oil of long breezy nights, out door dogs and matching furniture.
Danger fish sips another illicitly old scotch tumbler full of Larry,
watches finger tips streak the glass from the outside,
like snowflakes in reverse and reminds me
of that one time, with some girl and hazelnut.

Cross Sound was pretty darn good.

no more band-aid dreams
slow, slow, fast. Half an hour long.
Staring at where your eyes should be.
this is not a hiku.

Cannot afford to Travel…
A Window, and an afternoon nap.

Youth is play without consequence.

and the help of family
remember babylon?
afternoons in gardens hanged with morning tea,
yogurt in the afternoon,
and the promise of his and her bedrooms,
side by side, books, burrows banners.
Boondoggle.
Doggerel unfit for a dog bowl in babylon.