In one of
my many
lifetimes, when
I was a child,
my dad had a
sprawling stretch
of land in
Missouri.
He had 200
head of cattle.
We used to run
the cows we
bought at auction
through this
shoot with wooden
beams that closed
on their necks.
My stepmom took
this gun-like object
and put an orange
tag in their ear.

My brother and I used
to play with this black and
white steer.
We called him old #56
because of the number on
his tag.
We chased him, and then he
chased us.
I felt bad for
him, the tag in
his ear.
I talked to my
dad about it.
He said if the steer
ever got lost,
we could find him.
I felt good about that.
I didn't want to lose him.

One night
the following summer,
we were sitting down for
dinner.
I hadn't seen
old #56 for a while.
I asked Dad where
he was.
He didn't say anything.
We were having
t-bone steaks.

As I write this,
my black and white
kitten, Bukowski,
bites at the pen and
tries to wrestle my
wrist as it moves across
the paper.
I'm glad that he
isn't a steer.

Ardently and rigorously shaking fizz,
A symphony of sensations, a blissful abyss.
You look at me, your eyes ablaze,
As I dance to the rhythm of my own daze.

My focus is blurred, my mind unbound,
In this dizzying dance, I am truly found.
Quiet disgruntled, yet oh so alive,
Amazed by the luck that brought us to this drive.

Sincere flattery, is that a thing?
I am just kidding, but your praise does sing.
Satisfied, yet always yearning for more,
In this little dance, my heart does soar.

Feel light, that's the way,
Never to stay in one place, I say.
For in this journey, I am never alone,
With you by my side, my heart has grown.

So let us shake this, ardently and with rigor,
And dance to the beat of our own inner vigor.
For in this moment, we are truly free,
To be wild and alive, you and me.

The drums of doom are echoing
Across the barren hillsides.
  Heavy carts on wheels of hatred
   Loaded high with steaming tubs of vitriol
    And the ugly trolls who brewed it,
     Are rolling down the twisted roads,
      Toward a city newly named Perdition,
       There to dance the Sarabande
        While flocks of screaming Peregrines
         Circle through the storm black clouds
          And all the shutters are nailed tight
           Against the wind that that rattles doors
            And augurs the millennium.
ljm

Attraction is a small and fragile thing.
We started with stolen glances,
in crowded halls, across a coffee shop.
I was glancing (I hoped he was glancing).

It was hard, we lived in a rushed way.
We were on schedules, we had routines.
I had doubts about having a boyfriend
but they fell away, like leaves fall off trees.

I’d been warned, "don’t saddle trouble."

But finally, feeling that we were
deserving of love’s rich value,
we came together,
as marble-hearted sinners
with the serpent's contempt
for God’s stable order.

Orchids wilt and rot
in time.
Roses have thorns that
***** to bleed.
Seeds bring life that
ultimately dies.
In lieu of flowers
give me your
eyes full of
heat and desire.
Surrender your heart of
passion, but most of all,
water me with your
love so that I can grow.