Remember when we buried a stray
dog under the old church bell
in your backyard?  You said

the dog belonged to the *******
mechanic  south of the school
& his mom set the animal

loose because she was jealous;
it did not make sense
then, it does, today.

We spend so much time
Over analyzing what life
Could be
But we'll never try to make it real
Or live it out physically

But there's only so much time
And no promises for tomorrow
No way to reverse what you could of had
No youth that you can barrow

So many dreams to be lived
But the mind, it holds us back
Never took a risk in life
So much imagination we lack

If only you took a chance
To see what beyond the skies
You'd see then that even YOU, can fly

Don't waste your life dreaming
And later wonder why
So many days you could of spent living
Passed in the blink of an eye

what if there is no backdrop
i mean it could all be the central story, right?
i've called weaker plotlines boring and stronger ones interesting
and now when i see the story stretched out
not only over the course of my life
but through the tapered and weaving lives
of circles and slopes
of color and dreary bland borders

i see

i am compelled

it fills me

i was an artist
you were perfect
now I'm a worker
and you're confused
and the mess is better than any straight line ever drawn

we write and dance,
we share so selfishly,
like everything is ours to give

Where in fact could you tell me
lies this girl Felicity
The name I myself did give
to a perfect model of love

Is she the teenage girl at work
who flirts and shakes her ****
Asks me to touch her fleshy stomach
Everyone thinks we're having an affair

Is she the twenty something student
who texts me now and then
So we meet for illicit dates
and never anything else

Or is she the woman now past thirty
who feeds me every night
Wears high heels in bed
while loving me with all her heart

Which of these can you tell me
Is Felicity among the Felicities
Surely it is not you
I couldn't deal with anymore.

I cup a Pall Mall, it is 10:30 p.m.,
December & Montana
frigid.

The store’s back window is unlocked,
I take white bread, ham
& mustard.

Hunker curbside, make sandwiches
& eat, I am less

hungry, cold
& 14-years
old.

One dozen migratory Black-and-white Warblers lay
like fallen piano keys on the sidewalk in front
of a 14-story glass constructed building;
I watched as the janitor swept
them into the street.