We tried something different this year
A Thanksgiving day buffet
I really like the leftovers though
So I lined my pockets with cellophane

To justify my actions
As I stood in line
With the twenty bucks I was paying  
Would a little take out be such a crime

Being a master of illusion
I pointed and said is that Santa Claus
While everyone was looking
I filled my back pockets with cranberry sauce

Things were running rather smoothly
As we moved along
I was stuffing everything from giblets to gravy down my drawers
As if there was nothing wrong

With tomorrows lunch now in my pockets
I went back to the table to dine
Forgetting the cranberry sauce in my rear as I sat
I squirted the lady behind me in the eye

Her husband jumped quickly into action
He was a mountain of a man
We'll just call him Everest
I didn't have time to catch his name

He picked me up and started shaking
That's when my stuffing's came flying out
Tomorrows meal went everywhere
Splattering the entire dining crowed

There was quite a ruckus
As we chased around the restaurant
It's going to be hard to get my leftovers back
Now that I've lost my air of nonchalant

As we were knocking over tables
I got the idea to grab peoples plates
Not wanting to be a spoiler of the holidays
Out the door I hollered back

Have a Happy Thanksgiving Day!

She doesn't recite poems in the darkish sunset

like golden corns dying to be reaped
she needs a hand to cut her through
reach to where a fleshless lust is still not ember.

Seasons come and fly away.

Her own poems withering
she pines for one simple nest
to rest.

Sleep I cannot find
Tangled among the trains
Crossing federal highway 1
Markings on a digital clock
Change & change again
These are the terms of life
Pulling me down lonely sidewalks
The village by the sea escapes me as
I watch barefoot the cargo ships
Quitting the coast
A sky of spilled wine stained before
clouds of purple and orange construction paper filling me to a cell with sadness so complete that I would die to not feel it again

Now I am in the grip of the sea
The smell of it
In my skin and in my hair
Corona reflecting upon the waves
Until a thunderhead rears as the mustang nostrils flared and the foaming spray from its mouth touches me

Then the cold-
Then the rain upon my head
On my arms in my skin
Washing the poison from my body

Man can't escape from committing errors;
But he can escape from hurting others.

Even though we aren't what we used to be
Your secrets are still safe with me.