That song is on the radio for the third time this week
her heels are propped on the dashboard of my roaming SUV
what a state of relaxation as the wind blows 'cross my arm
that hangs out of my window as I drive along the shore
Daffodil and daisies pink and yellow white supreme
fall within the vegetation spread around this blissful dream
I hope I never wake up I close my eyes clenched force
her pucker peach  lips contact mine without remorse
Coarse strip of sand brushed gently into the sea
Beckons my lover and I to trail along the path of beauty
Hands held tightly gripping hearts with beating streams
of blood travel slowly down the beach 
Our serenade of love sung calmingly with every step 
as the sun sets in the west and the sea engulfs the rest

I don't know much of anything

You tell me all the time

Ciggarette burned out

Tea has lost its prime

The apple has run dry;
Fallen too far from the tree

Away from its comfort zone

*Far away from me.

Stuck inside this tissue box a suffocating space
denying me the right to cure my sickness of the day.
I realize there's no time to waste
but a tissue cannot help me when the problem's not my face.
I drip a sickness so gripping from my pores
it aches to breathe a lung so coarse
scraping scratching h2o
refreshing not a single soul
a final breath I take in case
this tissue box gives me away

I'm trying to grow the courage
but the telephone won't reach for me
there's a number on the napkin 
from a resturant down the street
my only lame excuse is..
Is that a seven or a three?
Is it hot in here or is it just me?
I don't know why I hesitate
because you're the one who inked your name
expecting to be my lucious date.
Don't waste your time; you'll only wait 
for my dispicible call of shame.

a key
to
f r e e d o m,
wave our flags
and renounce our forfeit
b e l i e v e
succeed
and place the crown upon thee
for standing
^u p^
and turning the key
that enables our country's
d i g n i t y
we fight
to protect
we deserve
r   e   s   p   e   c   t
for as a team
we take the throne
America,
they are coming home

A spotlight shining 
down gives significance to my face 
and draws attention to the beings among the dark surrounding space.
The microphone 
a massive fit within my cotton mouth:  my voice amplifies a welcome to the crowd with booming sound. 
Too late now, 
No turning back I preach my lines with charm 
as every beady eye investigates my nervous calm.  
Need for alarm; my sweaty palms collapse a desperate grip upon 
the silent seated people unresponsive to my drum.
Rising from their seats,
they aim for their retreat- 
FINE! turn your back on poetry 
don't listen to my speech!