She's wrapped herself on the wall
With her fragrant pink flowers
In bunches of disheveled disarray

And when the summer wind blows
It sends a gentle floral shower
Of blossoms and scents my way

At night, under the moon and stars
I inhale her. With her I love to be
And though I dally and play with words
There can never be a poem as she.

I rose before the dawn
As Jesus did of long ago
But I rolled away no rock
Begging all my sins to go

The chirpping of the birds
Tends to let me know
That soon the sun will come
And the night will surely go

But in the stillness
Of my father's ways
I am counting down the blessings
Bestowed upon me today

And as the coming light
Lightens up my darkest days
I find that eternal peace
Has entered into my ways

They say they are my friends,
I guess I work cheap,
I use a plastic bag to protect my seats,
They tell me I am boring,
They do things I never did,
They spend the night in jail cells,
For calling cops pigs,
“C’mon just one!”
“What could be the danger?”
Well…..I could **** someone,
Or wake up with a stranger,
Nah,
I’m good,
For that…..
I’ve no desire
Sure,
I’d love to go…..
As your designated driver
© B L Costello 2015

architectural mollusks
    are falloping through
                              my brain
                        squeezing past the
                         instincts that
        have kept me down
My instincts,
              once brittle sea stars
                          that splintered
                                    into cracked
                                 peppercorns,
                 are now mixed with
           the breathy liquid
        of squid,
lubrication for
the spiny paths ahead
They blow their ink
between my
inverted vertebrae
      injecting Jello into bone
                           busting through
                        fiber and tissue like
                          fresh-skimmed
                    lavacream
and all my muck
rises to the top
in a neon rawness
that I find beautiful

Soon
my burning crevices
will be cooled
fossils will turn to flesh
and, as sure as knowledge
springs into action
I will make
for the shoreline
like a cephalopod rocket
silky smooth
my fins spun into wings
touching magic
as they glide