Like a soggy mop
or a ***** brillo

and a  head squarely
in the gutter

this man is so down
in the dumps

he doesn't care
whether or not

he mixes
his metaphors

Eggs Benedict
ham on rye
with freshly squeezed

orange juice

and I'm reminded
of you
and our first breakfast

with that sizzling
bacon
we made together

Cracked and gray
with green blight on the spokes

it leans against a tree
the one where I carved you and me
into the bark

it's purpose

plain and simple

to remind us that once
we were something

for such a short
brief while

Just a speck
amongst the big blue

with swirls

and I have concerns
about messaging

and what a guy
has to do to make his mark

Magic Scripto
or India Ink


what would you
suggest

Not a ginger snap
but with a bite just as sharp

how you doing

better than I should be

for some reason
I am feeling very chill

good music in my earbuds
will do that to me

everytime

I remember that windy
February night

we sat cross-legged
on the hardwood floor

in the room of that hotel
on Michigan Avenue

popping corks
squirting cheese ****

talking in riddles
and circles

Rest respite
or a place

to call your own
home

is where your head is
when it rains

stolen no found
art and truly

one to write about
a letter from the heart