Lost games
Longer lost rules
Night-time crimes
Lungs full
Of pungent smoke
Bellies full of *****
And heads full of
Something
And nothing

A kind of homage
To a kind of music
Riding across vinyl
And even crackling shellac
And the dead man's foot
Still taps inside the coffin
Refusing to relinquish
The hard-wired hammer
The outlaw life
Is hard in the dying

                                    By Phil Roberts

Evelina’s fence of lichened cedar
slouches at the wetland border
her willows wildly weep
on silken cattail shoulders
the neighbors say she’s crazy
snidely call her Javelina
she's sane as any one of them
this brilliant winter morning

Evelina speaks of weather and dogs
hers, a Chihuahua named Fawn
mine, a Frenchie named Sparky
the weather, typically Northwest
in parting, sculpted driftwood
spiraling tornadic rings gifted
between palms roughly
worn by time and sea

Evelina’s yard is thick with trees
the neighbors want cut down
for now, she’s doing all she can
just holding swampy ground
each morning wakes triumphant
to beachcomb on the shore
pockets weighed with treasure
this moment, nothing more

You move through the avenue.
Sirens guide the way.
Burning hands in frozen rains.
Turns the stains away.

Indigo. Indigo away.

Lazily the thunder purs.
As you run away.
Wonder where the colors go.
Under skies so gray.

Indigo. Indigo away.

We're so sure
Concerning births,
With one hundred billion
Born on Earth
Since chaos turned to form;
There's fourteen times more people dead
To the eight billion this time round.
And yet,
I can't conceive
The finality of death.
The equation's misconstrued:
Of all the numbers
Come and gone,
I count mine,
Not yours.

Capture me! Now you have the chance
You've captivated me with a single glance

See my lips drop onto your skin like rain
Collect me like the tears of an undisclosed pain

Pour my essence into a bottle--let me never depart
Quickly hide me from harm within the nooks of your heart

Bring me to your lips when you feel of despair
Spritz me over your skin, let me diffuse through the air

Use me as strong drink, to abandon your troubles
For each sip of love you take, the abundance for you doubles

Your bottle is ever-filled
Ever-filling
No end
So do not use sparingly,
My lover,
My friend

The earth's only remedy
For all you desire
The only liquid melody
A drinkable fire

To quench your tongue's thirst
And always be enough
Yet leave your soul thirsting
For it is never enough

Somethings are easier to explain than most.
But what gets me is that everyone fails to mention what happens to the moth after the flame is extinguished.
The sorrow that escapes through the air as black smoke.
The burning smell of a wick sweltering in the remains of liquid wax.
Soon to harden as if nothing has happened.
And the moth, forever left with it's essence
Soon left alone, blinded.
Not knowing which way to go