three eighty four a gallon,
huh, not bad. fill 'er up.
tack on an extra for the seats and floors; no container.

get up to speed
light that j.
toss the roach
burn away.

Through that hole in the roof,
devoid of tar and shingle, I
                                              drip.

From that shower head
that needs just a wrench twist, I
                                                      drip,
   ­                                                   drip.    
    ­                                                            
That­ patch on the driveway,
beneath the car, just tuned up, I
                                                      drip,
   ­                                                       drip,
    ­                                                   d r i p.

In the back of a dream,
that stirs us to wake, I
                                     drip,
                    ­                               drip.

When that old dog only
gets older, sicker, I
                                drip,
                         ­                   drip.

Where nose ends and
cheeks turn into chin, I
                                       drip.

On the counter top a bottle- tipped,
chipped. I can't recall, but I
                                               drip,
                                                drip.
­
Overflowing and fraught with guilt,
a kettle of doubt, one carelessly spilt, I
                                                               drip,
                                                          ­    drip,
                                                      ­       **d r i p.

She is olive.
A tan-skinned Jasmine.
A rare earth metal;
and jewel-encrusted.

Sepia crescent moons
Dart at me. And then away.
A velvet petal.
My spine crumbles; rusted.

And when she negotiates a lone fold,
it
       babbles
                 down
                        to her shoulders
                        and comes to rest
                    across nape and breast.
                        As if immune;
                 she
       never
resisted.
                        She manipulates this simple tuck,
and every lesson, line, lecture, lash and lambaste in my language or hers is gone and has never existed.


                      This only tuck,
                                     that single fold;
                                     who gives a ****?
                                     Or so I've been sold.

Her hair is coveted;
linens for kings.
It gleams in my den,
near unworthy things.

fifteen minutes or so
the pilot lumbers out from the ladies room
she weighs as much as our cessna.
perhaps now she's lighter.

she grunts into the cockpit
and ensures her girth has not switched on or off
any vital instruments.
safety is our number one concern.

i've been more confident in lawnmower engines.
this rumbled like rapture.
i shook, but so did everything else.
we flew like a mallard

over lakes and forest.
we saw a shipwreck that now hosts
families for lunch.
as well as a few baseball fields.

the air was a force.
it asserted it self, to be certain.
i sensed its angst.
it translated thoroughly.

she rambled on
it was her tenth flight today.
i looked behind,
my love was green.

Everybody knows.

We've been here this whole time.

You're closer than you think-

Your address isn't hard to find.


Trapped alone and on display,

like all of us here.

Relinquish your seclusion

for a cheap opinion or two.


Reality fumbles

to keep up

with this consortium of bums

that look unto a crowd as if to see a mirror.


"Did you like it?"

"Yes, I thought it clever."

"But you don't like it?"

"I don't understand."


Divorce yourself

from the idea.

Grasping for straws.

If no one agrees, how can it be so?


Staring in the dark,

etching silhouettes on the wall.

Fooled into waiting

for anonymous approval.


How fragile our ego;

self-deprecate unless instructed otherwise.

Sing out loud, crave the applause;

drown in only the echo.

to reconnect with who i was,
before i was,
who i seem to be.

drab and alone,
left to bear
the human condition.

they award no trophies
to those who yearn
to live serenely.

i'll smash a clock.
or maybe jump up and down-
fluff my pillows.

no, tomorrow i'm cooking.
breakfast, ******* it.
coffee too.

and i'll see an eastern sun.
i know trophies are won
by participants.

i woke at about noon today
and opened a window to air out the room-
it smelled like a ***** girl that i don't
very much care for.
and i put on some clothes and
left and closed the door behind me.