I love home cooking
always will,
but going to a restaurant
now and then
can be a real treat.

Floating
green olive
with red pimento
waves before
I chew and swallow
and pour it down the hatch
like she chewed
and swallowed
and poured this sailor
down her hatch.

My paint brush dried
before I could finish
collecting a wage
of a penny and a kiss.

I'll get to it later. . .
not to worry,
reassuring myself.

Placed the canvas
on a hanger
let it hang there
in the museum of
Dreams for a Payday.

I plan for the future
but in all honesty
my life has unfolded
like some unforeseen
magic trick.

I wish I had it.
Instead my words grind
in a windmill built on a ****
in Amsterdam.
They grind and grind
far, far, far from here
near the sea of flowing words
swimming freestyle
to flowing hearts
flowing minds.

Not jealous, mind you,
more like knowing
I'm a grinder grinding
all the while admiring
the soulful flowing words
scribed by the best of you.

Who am I
to deserve such sights,
to witness this splendor?

Thank you for trusting me
with this color, this light.

Thank you for reminding me
what lives behind the dark.

Whoever, wherever,
whatever you are.