there was a little rooster he lived on a farm
a friendly little chap with lots and lots of charm.

he would stick his chest out looking also proud
then  he would give a crow so very very loud.

waking up the people at the break of dawn
throwing back the blankets as they begin to yawn.

a new day has arrived thats how the rooster knew
thats why he gives his crow to say hello to you

out of life
as I did with my hair as
a ten-year old child
that didn’t care. It was a cinch and

did the job fast. I’d throw
the mass in the trash. It looked like
a nest that the Robin hatched

her chicks in. Women are
snarly. And so are men. And I,
too. It’s hard to brush through
the clumps of life. My head is

an ocean. My hair, the crashing
waves. And the men are all lice. I’d
like a clean shave!

When will I
Get over myself?

After you're sixty-five,
you don't get birthdays
you get death threats,

when all bets are side bets.

Fine mist permeates
Decorated, adorned
Sweet caresses
Glistening, drenched
Pulse points pounding
Pheromones

Inhale deeply
Influx of images
Some imaginary
Most are memories
Muffled deep within
Beneath the subcutis

Dewy skin
Silver shift
Moonlit dancing
Forceful invitations
Disrobed temples
Soft moans