Bootleggers on Sunday evening  ,  a little pink house on Kelleytown Road !  Waiting by the cattle gate , taking money  , calling back to the house via radio ! Waving customers through , one by one , driving by the shack without braking once , trunk wide open , in goes the whiskey , slammed shut , out the back gate , and off they went !  Sheriff Donald didn't seem to have a clue , alcohol sales on late Sunday afternoons ? For forty odd years this house became a legend , Councilmen , Deputies and Mayors knew of it's existence ! Cars from distant counties all over the state , flying up dirt roads leaving dust in their wake ! It was surely without doubt , the entire county convinced that the Sheriff drew a months salary on Sunday evenings !

My palms on your
*******. Yesterday.
Things felt good then;
Kinda like love.

It's also called
Yesterday.
Today, I'm a whispered
*******.

Today I'm heavy air.
Render me hobby.
I have fewer feelings
Than a stone.

That's what you loved
About me. What you
Wanted to
Change.

The Moon

We are the waxen crescent feast of star shine
the poetic moon groom,
the romantic echo of sun
while it murmurs in swishing tide of peaceful sleep
each half of the heart drawn by the moonlit *****
strolling the Titanic proportionate
a two headed bobbing horizon lost at sea
could you dream of me in dune songs
whispering tomorrow dawning in summer sonnets
could you think of me possibly
when ever you gaze up at a waxing Moon.