Counterclockwise asphalt necktie
Broomstick moonshine... one busted tail-light.
Hard luck crust -
on a crumb of starlight.
Cross-stitch moonbeams and nothing
but midlife.
Ain't nothing to
mood swing.-
With nothing to feel like.
Get born. Get dead.
Fix **** -
tail-light.

she had a black belt in carrot and stick.
but her olive skin derailed every dignity
for a glimpse, and skipped the cigarettes
to keep the peace that nearly cost us
the war.
she had an aire of impossible disregard.
festooned with golden hooks and kool-aid.
a wire brigade of barbs
with two eyes - vacant...
save a dispassionate wail
of an absent goddess
for all your
grief.

with your pain, immodest.

but no longer
underneath.

life is the gift
that keeps on giving you -
a dead-end job
and a dog park to walk through...
in flip-flops -
with no socks
and -
no dog to talk
too.

something
smells bad
and you hope
that it's not
you.

but nothing gets
worse
and that's
how it
stops
you.

we are all of us; Love, that has not understood -
the meaning of Itself. far too fragile to grasp the
varnish from the night picket fence. but ever mindful
of our boundaries.

and found it.

when it never
made
sense.

Basking in the dolphin sun, frothy pearls of laughter abide.
Children at play... and blue thunder sky blotting out the void.
All around, a great swarm of beatitude, unhinged from the workaday.
A grand tumult of sugar, cast upon the waters of Now.

We eat with our hands.... all dreams.

And have all dreams, somehow.

i was not awake
when this happened.
so it had
to happen...

and that's how it works.

It's called Life...

For
no
Reason.

You're either
used to
it.

or Not
Dead.

and that's where
poetry comes
from.

Sooooo ~~~

Agatha Abernathy slapped clay on a wheel and spun with her bare hands all manner of things to hold in your mind. She slept through thunderstorms as if a storm front were a blanket. There was no such thing as too many cats; and marmalade was a condiment.

Agatha had nothing to say.... And nothing to keep to Herself.

Can't Push A Cloud With Your Hands

you can't walk out that door
and expect me
to stop loving you.

it doesn't end.
it just kills me.
endlessly.

you can't
push
a cloud
with your
hands.

even when you're
not into
me...

Love's Entropy...