Beige walls
with painted blue anchors

yellowed light

a gray rug
worn

but still good

do you
or don't you


everybody does
has a story to tell

that is

Last month it was
sultry

but today the air
bites

no notice
no transition
and definitely


no warning


just like people
who rarely say goodbye

or herald their changes
and maybe  I shouldn't

and maybe it's not
necessary

but
I'll tell you anyway


I've growing terse
in my old age

through a streaked window pane
I watched life

get washed like flotsam and jetsam
into a storm sewer

and realized  again
that

it's all about days like these
and  the quotidian truths

they reveal

It rained last night

and the flood waters
washed away

a pair of kids
red rubber boots

a four square ball
and a lecture

no one needs to hear

But not yet still
green

the leaves are that
of Summer

we wish and we must
be careful

what we wish for
and look beyond

what is strikingly
beautiful

and at the time
never

here to stay

Cracks
deep cracks

more like fissures
in the asphalt

and if you are like me
who

never got past this
first barrier

then you missed the treasure
at the end of this dusty rainbow

We are always out of time
as we drive by

running from our own trolls
and demons

to stop and see
what animatronic terrors

await us

before our very eyes
or face

like we are falling
or colliding

destiny
maybe

but definitely
a silver bucket

and a brand-new pair
of cleats

What we're driving away from
is the same thing

we are driving toward

a gray cloud beast
behind

one in the front
and a signpost

up ahead

Some say I threw
my money away

on trips
and other frivolous things

and now they tell me
it's all in the wind

but if it's the wind
that's in my face

when I'm on the open road
what better place is there

for my money to be

Eggs over easy
farm fresh

so they say

scrapple
or corn beef hash

sizzling in grease
on a cast iron skillet

life

on the Mother Road

ripped
from yesteryear

it's Main Street Soda ****
with the Munger Moss Motel

an Art Deco
delight

still keeping
the route and dream

very much
alive

Whale
baby blue

concrete

and like a magnet
I'm drawn to it

as though it might
swallow

me  right up

Foamy Cola
and ice cream treats

complete
with a maraschino cherry

topped like an angel
on a Christmas Tree

and wedges of lemon meringue pie
under a glass dome

as red and silver stools
line a Formica counter

Crashing waves
a merry-go-round

fishing poles

sandy beaches
palm trees

it's the end of the road
but more

of a line
we didn't know

we could cross

Everybody
was somebody

at some time

old postcards
a grape  Nehi soda

and a pair of moccasins
adorned

with colored glass beads

As the tide goes out
uncovering

the sand bar path
to the light house

and children laugh
hurling

beach *****
and seaweed


as sandcastle after sand castle
gets trampled

it's one deafening
question

that I'll always
refuse to answer

would we have lost each other
in the hustle and shuffle

of family

Three gas pumps long
it's clean

perhaps
well lighted

but with summer bugs
swarming the lamps

like a plague

and it's in between
here

and there
whatever

and wherever
there

maybe

In the spotted mirror
popping quarters

to make the bed
rumble

as the shower sputters
steam rises

and freshly chopped ice
fills a vinyl bucket

you are everywhere
that was so long ago

Don't run away
run into the  lightning

the thunder
and the storm and

wash thoroughly
in the torrential drops

because as they say
a little sudden rain

never
hurt anyone

We all do
search that is

for the sand
that slipped

through
the hour glass

so I don't fault you
for walking the halls

room to room
don't worry

we'll see him again
and each other

With every turn
and twist

of the silver knobs
and tightening

of the nylon strings
the dream

becomes less milky
and gauzy

so the real picture
can begin to focus

slightly crooked
it hangs

but a painting
none the less

of a not-so-perfect
vessel

that carried us
down rivers

and out to sea
as we journeyed

far and wide

the street you describe
I've never been there

but I have kicked a bedsheet
a time or two

and maybe I've reached
for cigarettes

I've been hot and cold
more cold blooded

you might say
in the true snake sense

Peace

today
is what I've

made with age
and life

I love you

is what I wrote
this morning

on last night's
cocktail napkin

Thunderclaps
lightning flashes

and the rain
pit pats on the roof

my fingers
snap crackle pop

and I'm distracted now
but I'll get back on track

as soon as I see
a rainbow

a dead mouse floats
where water has puddled

in the driveway

and a  whiff of skunk
means

it must have taken port
from last night's storm

in the garage

a slow rusty drip
falls from the gutter

so many early morning
impressions

so many clues
and so many McGuffins

to distract

muscles twitch
moonlight radiates
though still soft

a voice

angelic
or otherwise

sings

a sharp blade
carving

shaving
after shaving

from a gnarled wooden
stick

or is it the sound
of your gravelly singing

and the many guitars
you've  owned and played

or the feel of stubble
or the smell of cologne

I don't know

but I'll can and will say
at the risk of selfishness

is your day is
mine too

and a day
will never be enough

Like
pond water

agitated
with a stick

that
became muddy

we were

but are much
clearer now

and no journey
was ever necessary

you and I made a home
right here

at the edge
among the reeds

The Moon glows
as the night ages

and I grow old
with it

After the swirls
a glimpse into a crystal ball

your life
and what it could be

or should be
then

BAMMO

it's gone

back to the world
dyed melancholy

and blue

Distant bells
jingle

getting louder
as he comes

a bright white
truck

rolling toward us
and if we hurry

we can scavenge through
kitchen drawers

and scrounge up
just enough change

for an ice cream
treat

we can make it work

we always do

When every day's
a struggle

to keep your head
above water

may solace be found
in words so preciously

penned
by a printing press

with sprinkles
and milky images

Silhouetted trees
against a dusky sky

and it's only been a week
but already

too long

but hey
what can I say

we got a little hot
and things got a little weird

but no it's not
at least

I don't think
it's too late

that is

The Red White
and Blue

gloppy
painting

of the flag
hangs on the wall

in my den
and I have a whale of a time

keeping it straight
freedom

is messy
and not everyone enjoys it
always

but I won't give up
on that painting

nor you
and I hope you

won't give up
on me

like wind
through
a creaking door

three messages
in three hours
and nothing

but cicadas
which are even worse
then crickets

Not a pigeon
mind you

just a middle-aged man
whose shoulders burn

while trying

to ***** back in the cover
on the ceiling light

Blows notes
and simple chords

little gold
plastic

to be exact

jump in


the water's nice
no

the water's cold


Cold or nice
you take your pick

Gas powered
music

to my ears

row after row
of tangled grass

cut

and gray branches
collected

and hauled away
one dump truck

at a time

I'll attach it to your coat
with a metal clip

this note

you keep saying
I should open up to you

and this brevity
on yellow scratch paper


should tell you
everything

you need to know

Like good help
a smooth glide  is hard to find

that perfect pen that rolls
with  the flow

of your words and music
across the paper

Give me some
if this is Heaven

red gold
petals

pressed against
solid blue sky

without a cloud
in sight

if this is Heaven
give me some

Murky

like someone
poked a stick

in some pond water
and stirred up mud

the past is swirling
and

murky

but there was a time
when we loved it

so much
we named a magazine

Life

with the title in white block letters
against a small red square

and glossy pages
in between

It was the gray
and blue wrapper
so ugly

that made it
the Zero

the candy bar

nobody ever wanted
and because of that
nobody ever knew

how it tasted

but yet I miss it
just like the ability
to pull a lever

and hear
the crinkling sound
of candy coming down

the shoot

colors
a spectrum of colors

reds
yellows

violets
and greens

succeeding
lightning rain

and gray clouds
beauty

along with the calm
after the storm

Blue sky
crisscrossed

with
chemtrails

the first butterfly
of the season

and a lawnmower
gasping

for that last
bit of gas

point

you ask

point is something
usually lead

and almost always
on the end of a pencil

Yes

I found your journal
deep

in the attic
the black one

with a gold lock
I pried open

but
what I wonder

is

do I dare
try and decipher

your hen scratches

I guess the bigger question
do I dare

disturb the universe

Gleaming
white it shines in the cold sun

of this early Spring day
with the corrugated door

rolled up
the uniformed driver

dollying packages
down the silver ramp

a Fed Ex truck
parked outside my window