With the loss of oil derricks, And the fall of Enron, With high rise condos Taking over established slums, Cowboy boots gave way to Combat boots & Birkenstocks A resurgence of culture From the wreckage of roads Still in progress We nod, tip our imaginary hats As we say "Mornin ya’ll" With a drawl to your clichés

I’m interested in the way your mind ticks. I want to disassemble you down to bare cogs. Analyze depressions folded in shadows for the markings That rendered the many succinct parts of you. Train my fingers along the contour of the frame that holds it all in. Appreciate the beauty of how each portion works together, The collection of experiences that turns and tunes your time piece. I want to know why each thought was created, Where it traveled before it reached my ears. The rhythmic tattoo of...

I watch you dance Upon treacherous rocks In a meditative state Body singing the story of pain Elegant hands caressing air As though it could feel you too . . . In envy of your grace Courage, freedom of movement In envy of your haven Though you brought me here I am still the outsider I always will be Here you are one In solitude On these waters Inside this breezy night Unseen hand can reach you Feel you, caress you Together, but alone I am this night

“I looked at her, she looked the same as she always had” What had changed? Years of married suburban life, at some point . . . someone, for some reason . . . I can’t understand, stopped . . . touching. How did it begin, the beginning of the end? I feel as though we’d been in the dénouement for years. Was it me . . . was it her? The touching, it’s one of those things best remembered when reciprocated. Like a dime store romance, “He grabbed her body, embraced her. She raised her head, brushed h...

Spinning, twirling, I draw out my terrycloth crusaders cape, capture him, small and warm into my arms. Trapped by my body, I bend low, press my lips to his nape. Whisper “I love you” and hope he can hear it echo in his skin.

We started out, walking the lines. Feebly writing in malleable pencil. Fearing errors, knowing correction would need to be made. Erasers skim the surface, leaving behind the traces of our mistakes. Both letters and lines are illegible now. We still fear ink, hopelessly. Its been known to bleed blue puddles, uncongealed. Sweat and tears smear its precision, forging a river, rushing down the page. Once ink is scrawled there are no take backs. Despite scribbles or whiteout it is permanent. Use i...

When we came together, collectively we owned ... 3 bookcases, 1 discarded patio table, with matching chair A coffee table, who having seen better days Masqueraded as a headboard for the sheets & blankets That composed our first tentative bed. We spent those early autumn months Softly cushioned by carpet and pillow Our bodies sprawled out ... harem style Now, 3 couches and 2 children later I still want you, like some people want yesterday Thinking that rewind would somehow result In a tummy tu...

You evolve your features with the flip of a hat As if some one pulled your cord and beard grew . . . most magically Yet I know this is based upon illusion Underneath there is still a musicians cleft etched in your chin Beneath the ink and metal that adorns you now Your skin still crawls with words Claws scratching at your wounds Ready to burst the scabs of time I can hear the tick tick tick tick tick of your time bomb mind Aching artist trapped inside . . . it’s not too late You don’t need to...

I play dress up, sliding a tight black dress down my curves. Slipping soft silk stocking up to my thighs, where they kiss satin garters guarding g-string chastity.

A portrait hangs, forgotten. Particles cling to veneer walls. Crayons crawl in forsaken corners. Certificates of occupants long since moved away, linger on dirty hooks. Clichés stricken in oak garnish doorways. Huddled between stained floorboards murky truth whispers lies. Eager, it taints the air. Denial dangles, straining, Caught in sunlit stares.