A couple jogging in the park
Can't seem to schedule in ***,
They pass the plight
Of an overwhelmed trashcan
With indifference.
Some have too much,
Others not enough.

A young mom
Pushing the pram,
A young snail
Pulling its shell,
A bird on a wire
Watching both intently,
The call of his stomach
Shall prevail.

Love and doubt,
Apathy and duty.
A checklist of options
Lost in the quicksands of time.
Pick one to share,
As if metering off infinity
With a yardstick.
******* the hour.
Confuse the day.
Create exotica by building
Interest in offshore drilling.

The well run dry,
What's left to strike
Rests inside the mind.
The second hand cannot remember why
She must constantly move like a shark,
And so she settles to sleep,
Forgetting who she is.

The couple in the park may run
home to make love in the shower.
The trashcan may finally
Be relieved of its anxiety.
And young mom, snail and bird
May find continued purpose.
But when asked what time it is,
The clocks with amnesia
Will only be able to say,
"I don't know."

I can no longer see past the smoke.
Life is a heartbeat
Inside a cage of fear.
What we don't know is terrifying.
What we do know is even more so.

These strange fellows
Still record on videotape
Abroad an outdated
Insufficient spacecraft
The shape of
An interstellar bowling alley

By night they hunt for
New age wine
Radio waves
And a slew of hitchhikers

Some they greet
Some they cheat
Some they mistreat
Some they eat

Convenient store gangbusters
Crop circling has seen its better day
Soundtrack enthusiasts
They've a score to settle
With John Williams

They came from a fruitless world
In search of pomegranate skies
And the Big Apple
Even from the far flung
Reaches of space
Everyone's an actor

Some they unseat
Some they beat
Some they reheat
Some they eat

We're odd to them
Because they're gods to us
In a technologically challenged
Unidentified flying object

It's not war they want
Nor invasion
Just dinner theatre
And a reliable map

Her body pulls away, outlying

Ask the mountains
Question the clouds

What is rotation's logic?
Have we spun fallaciously all along?

Communicating with inexact words?
Kissing off-target?
*******, an imprecise expression?

She settles now on unapproachable horizon

Learn from the shore
Understand the sea

Neither dare, nor desire, to claim
For the indignity or cumber of a difficult collide

Start anew by holding hands
Discover the "we" in you and her

Ever so gently, allow her to orbit
The offered affection
On her own terms

The heart will again probe for
A returning circuit to attachment

Her body will move closer

The sun has her heart on setting, and so takes an impetuous bow.

The mountains open trees like umbrellas, to which their budding wildlife gather under.

High above the lamplight district, a cluster of crows assemble on a wire, taking a vote over which direction to take wing.

The grumpy locomotive steams ahead, hissing at its schedule and the possibilities of further rust.

A lady of style, turning on her heels from the salon, swears to the heavens she'll get even if anything ruins her hair.

And you, just this morning...

waving goodbye to me from an upstairs window with a smile, but silently praying I will return to you alive and in good health.

Shell casings strewn
On a rooftop
A grassy knoll
An underground garage
This is what ensues
When you hate the man
In front of you in line
And he happens
To step into Texas

Mary, Mary
Quite contrary
Egressed from the East Indies
A lost child
Grief is a long hallway
With sketches of pain
Adorning the walls
Hope is a drawer
With a hidden key

Bottled-up
Mary Lennox
Jumps rope
Out in the cold
Hopscotching
And exploring
Follows the red robin
Enters the garden
Long forsaken
Befriending life within
Evoking life without
With the one exception
Of herself

Mary had a little plan
"Might I have a bit of earth?"
To plant
And to chant
To sow
And to grow
To return a loved one
To both father and son
To open the secret garden again
And feel the inner workings
Of her heart begin

The blue boat,
white ships,
dissolve,
wash
into pastel houses,

                    sea foam,
                    evaporation.

The light passes through
the pigment,
reflects from the paper,
and passes
a second time through,

                    luminous, see
                    transparency.

From the windowsill,
a reeves box,
a splashing of color,
a loved one
in nature's hue,
drying her hair,

                    sight-seeing,
                    undressed rehearsal.

The painter,
walking his pathos home,
reaches for china white,
sprinkling his soul,
religiously
translucent,

                    murky sea,
                    christendom.

Waiting for his muse
to disrobe,
move into a pose,
make her body
an overwhelming
curiosity,

                    in a sea of watercolor,
                    naturally!

Hear the drumming?

On point
Off note

No tea
No sympathy

Battle drum
Stratagem

Clouded
Shroud

A waving flag
A wavering comfort

Peacefully
Pierced

Sharp pain
Dull wound

Pretty house with a white picket fence and dethorned rose garden, the bread crumbs lead to selfish tendencies

Detach
Separate

"Cut the kids in half"

Part for daddy
Part for mommy

Let them cry themselves to sleep
The drums shall stop

Divided worlds
United cruelty

Bedtime
Bedlam

Rush of blood
Knives out

The drumming never stops
Sudden isolation swallows them whole...

They wanted to go, but not today

But how many ways can you split the infinitive?

The wars upon the seashore harbor regrets of their own

Sanguine colors in the sand

They are reminders of blood filled horizons

Nonetheless, the tide that day offered only strangulation

Into the deep they went, never to return

In simpler times, they buried their dead at sea

Now they come to rest precisely where they fall

It's the new math: count on your fingers and toes the number of blows

But how many ways can you split infinity?

Waterworks are failing

Nile faucet tears

***** powder salt

Plague blood wine

Fermented analgesic sea

Swallow Ebers papyrus

Swallow ******'s scroll

Raze the periscope, this is no crusade

Born blind under duress

They sink mid-thigh in pools of acronym

Copper pennies at their toes

Can't wish for things they haven't been
taught to believe

Steal them instead

They'll get a parade for far less

But then again the winds might turn

The sea might divide master and slave

And there they shall be peeing their pants

"In caelum fero--we make our mark"

You picked a bad day to fight, Egyptian

The story here is oddly familiar:

Many say COVID-19 was quiet, but friendly, and stayed mostly to himself.

Occasionally, he and his wife, CATCH-22, would get into it, but nothing that involved the authorities.

Others, however, say it was just a matter of time before he blew up.

Of course, no one said anything until it was too late.

All those interviewed for this story refused to be named for fear of being targeted.

What a surprise!

It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man in possession of a good fortune, must be in want of a swimming companion when enjoying his pond.

Sad reflections from
donated dreams.
Charity's
fallen embers.
Like a high UV index
they burn right into
your skin.
Freckling
your thoughts with a bit of compromise.

Close your eyes
to the possibility
inertia
has made itself at home.
You'll feel it, feel it
right to the bone.
But you crossed that bridge
long ago.
In the time of
tranquil misgivings.
You gave consent to
sin by offering up
your sons and daughters.
Drowning them
in the shallow end of dissipated water.

Sing hymns
all you like.
Piety
is not for sale.
And the angel light
that hits the wall
is not in the shape of Mary.
Evil always figures into
these things.
Don't you know? Heat rises. Blood falls.

So burn your prayers
on a stick. Roast them
in the campfire. You'll never turn
to God until you lie
dying. Broken and heaving.
Asking for forgiveness.
Which a man of cloth
will grant.
Such a charmed life to leave.

Only it's a cheat.
A spoonful
of circumvention.
Making you feel
warm and clever
as you bleed out. Regrettably,
your vacuous heart
sailed off on the Greta Garbo
and mortgaged
your future for such marquee.
Banking on the
here and now.
From this there can be no redemption.

Tell me your secrets
unofficially
surreptitiously
on the quiet

whisper the unknown
off the record
behind closed doors
on the sly

between you and me
in camera
sub rosa
entre nous

let me be your one and only

My mirror
Is driving me up the wall

It's sick and tired
Of it always being about me

Does your life
feel like a bad flight
on an airplane?

You saved and saved
to pay for first class
but got stuck in coach.

No matter where you went
or who you met
there was always turbulence.

And even that all-expenses-paid
dream vacation to paradise
went down in flames.

Rent-to-own heart
Sits awkwardly upright
In a hope chest
It can take a beating
And keep right on ticking
But beware of jump scares
Next to the fireplace

Draw nigh
wounded starling,
dwell among
the woodland fastness;
come under its canopy,
upon the bough's
fractal patterns;
mend your wings,
rest your thoughts;
in time you too will mentor
fledglings, the jackdaws
and sand martins,
teaching them
to safely yonder fly.