Open
with a red-orange sunrise

then
crack that sunrise like an egg

and let the yoke and white slop
into a mixing bowl

question
do we then beat that egg

scramble it
or do we fry it or

maybe poach
perhaps

we just leave that broken sunrise
in the bowl on the counter

someone else's gift
or curse

Leather
wrinkled with age

but trusty

case in point
without the fluff

we are talking about a grip
that's been through it all

seen it all
and stood the test of time

A stray thought
in the day
enlarged

by night

and now you are deep
dreaming
about fair weather

and a place
you've never been

Kansas City

it lingers
it dangles
like a shoelace

never tied
or unfinished
like a *** only

half thrown

Meat sliced
by a stainless steel blade
and by the pound

prime
and choice

back then
cuts were cheap
but such

as life

A Neon Splash
from a forgotten age
of cool and class

and jazz
palpable and complete
with curls of smoke

it's still there
you

are still there
it just takes a while

to notice what was once
so familiar so clear
and dear

Just a  speck
but I know it's there

across the sound
waiting for the tide

to recede
and the sand bar to appear

a bridge a connection
to the past

and a spark and a flame
to future enlightenment

Maybe
a scrap of paper
with a name number or address

that slipped down
river
and over the falls

memories
leaving one by one

until there's nothing left
but a hollow wind
blowing

into some glass bottles
perched
on a split rail fence