My garden pond is filled with life and promises. It is an oasis where the kindness of soft and fluid beauty Extends a hand. I
Sometimes stardust is the enemy, Smothering us in unrealizable desires, Turning our imaginations into mere fantasy, Beckoning us toward realms that we need not enter.
The snow covered the ground Like a giant sleeping polar bear. So soft and welcoming Yet it could rip your toes, fingers or nose off
In the waking dream Of some acid washed Memory, we saw The lovers We left waiting And all of the Phenomena that they
Poetry, my ragged mistress, naked with golden sap dripping from her fingers Offered reprieve from the bonesaw nights of self
I watch them every morning at the breakfast counter eating scrambled eggs with forks pointed prong-side-down, probing the yellowed fetal goop, scooping heaps of
Drunk on a pyramid and glad where booze was available and the rooms free, for all we cared; our only concern how to kiss girls
I see you In that place— Where limbs tremble Where muscles contract
The feel of silk between finger and thumb, a delicate wash of pink so easily torn, after a brief efflorescence destined to wilt. They form
What noises should we save in the museum of historic sounds? The beautiful calls of song birds preserved before extinction? The burbling of gushing streams