In wonder, gaze upon each scene,
As if you're born anew, it seems.
Leave traces light, as if the last,
Tread softly, future's in the past.

Love fiercely, with the tender's touch,
As if this love means oh so much.
Live like it's the lone encore,
Never seen, and nevermore.

Marvel at the world with innocent eyes,
As if you're greeted by surprise.
Each moment treasured, never last,
A dance in time, a fleeting cast.

Leave footprints soft on sands of time,
A legacy woven in every rhyme.
Love passionately, like the first,
A flame that's endless, about to burst.

Embrace this life with pure delight,
As if it's your last, this very night.
Innocence, love, and traces true,
A symphony of life, composed by you.

In the symphony of life, where chaos and melodies intertwine,
A whisper in the dark, a plea that's all but mine.
Lost in the echoes of a tumultuous sea,
Letters dance like memories, elusive and free.

Fragments of emotion, a kaleidoscope of thought,
A cryptic ballet in the tapestry, where meaning is sought.
Fleeting and poignant, like tears in the rain,
Unraveling mysteries, a heart's silent pain.

A plea for solace, or a cry in the night,
In the cipher of emotions, where shadows take flight.
Yet, amid the chaos, a chance for clarity,
A poetic dance, an ode to sincerity.

So, let the words resonate, let the emotions unfold,
In this labyrinth of language, where stories are told.
For within the enigma, there lies a tale untold,
In the cryptic whispers, emotions manifold.

molly
the waitress
at Town diner

wants to be a model
or a nun,
tells me she's a poet

we're sitting on
a couch in her apartment.
molly takes a poem from
a foot high stack
on the end table,
hands me a poem,
"FIRST BRA," by Molly C.
it's about buying
her first bra at 12.
"i was big.
i needed a bra at 11,"
she smiles.

now
she doesn't wear bras.

she tells me
rod mckuen
is the most read
poet
in America.

"what about walt,
plath,
hughes?" i asked.

"no
no,"
she says,
"mckuen is the MOST
popular poet
in American history,
no,
really
the greatest American poet."

molly loves rod mckuen.

i love molly.

"if the public loves
rod mckuen,"
i tell her,
you've got a shot.
you could be the  female version
of rod mckuen."

molly smiles
takes me by the hand
and leads
me up the stairs
to the loft.

she takes the ribbon
from her hair.

i lay her down
on the bed

and bang the hell
out of
the next
most read
American poet