Eight days in a farm house beside the beach.
Thin walls can’t mute
The promise of navy blue one-piece.
Shucking oysters on bicycles to the beach,
joy starts as a trickle.
A gleam of happiness laying in plain sight.
I only have to stoop to retrieve it.
Yet touching it, I become golden.
Midas' curse is my promise.
Pleasure, at first skin deep, is transmuted by passion
Into a physical joy. Joy I won’t grasp
For fear it is fleeting.
Let go. Fall back. Land in its clouds. Eat the lotus
and retch
A blue dress with red eyes crying.
No shelter. I won’t eat lotus.
Jul 13, 2020
Jul 13, 2020 at 12:02 PM UTC
My cup runneth over
With blood, phlegm, and feces
Let me drink from yours
May 10, 2019
May 10, 2019 at 6:49 AM UTC
Fried chicken is fun.
Eat it! You won't. You are too
in love with sadness
Apr 20, 2019
Apr 20, 2019 at 10:42 AM UTC
Stock stone still we wait
Frozen until we are sure
we heard simon says
Apr 14, 2019
Apr 14, 2019 at 3:28 PM UTC
So sweet, the man without hands or feet
He is the spitting image of my daughter's ideal
Tie, briefcase, portly belly
Perfectly powerful
If only I (and she) could keep this picture forever
Jun 9, 2017
Jun 9, 2017 at 8:36 AM UTC
He is off to devour the babysitter
No need for shoes in the summer heat
No need for pants inside the house
Three steps at a time, claws awhir
Teeth aching to crunch the bones of his Brazilian prey
Sometimes I remember to move carefully around his loud, joyful willingness
Or I don't remember
And tear out a fat chunk of adventure with a stinging rebuke
But he is a T-Rex with two tons to spare
Jun 8, 2017
Jun 8, 2017 at 6:20 PM UTC