Sometimes when you’re at a cafe
you wonder if the person sitting
next to you would be a better
lover than you’re accustomed
and then you think the person
might give you a gift of a shirt
or advice that could renew you
or provide much insight into
your bumbling life. That’s
when pragmatism takes you
a step backward and away
from the  polished counter
and out the door to ponder
that the person sort of looks
like a long lost relative.

She sat on the carpet with a bowl of Lucky Charms
on her lap watching ******-Doo when she
swiveled and asked, “Why do I have
a cleft palate?” Before I could
respond she sang,  “Frosted
Lucky Charms, They’re
Magically Delicious,”
and flipped

to the Flintstones.

Somewhere
in a dream
I gaze at sadness
      inside the folds
              of soft suede
     in hues of earth,
in its darkest shades
  and up surges longing,
breaking out
  breaking free
    a catharsis of emotions
rushing stormy
through me
Bursting in my veins,
now a river of tides
    from the swirl
               in my brain
      to the swell
of my thighs
and every inch
            of skin
aches with want
for a lost, ancient treasure
and I wonder
how ties
supposed to bind
were meant
     to be severed
for I am stuck
in this limbo
this dance
        between stars  
as the pain
in the staying
makes room
for new scars
and I'm thinking
that vows made
sometimes need
to be broken
before the soul
dies
in dark silence,
inner
   words
         never
   spoken

Lonely men chase butterflies
They run and run
Cry and cry

Lost boys chase dragonflies
From here to there
Try and try

Honest men seek a rose
They pick and place
Wilt and waste

Smart boys leave her where she grows
To stay and wait
He appreciates

Yoke smiles
And twinkles from the eyes
Blend them together
Whisk, whisk, whisk
Till it all bubbles to
A perfect frothy fluffiness -

Heat some love
And tender words
Add fruit of human kindness
Mix, mix, mix
Some rinds of laughter
Blend it all well, in folds

Cup this
Into lightly buttered hands
Of giving

Then warm the heart
And put it in to bake

See happiness rise to a perfect gold

A simple recipe - the soufflé of life

Crisp outside
Molten and soft happiness within

My friend works at
An old folks home
Makes his living off the
Constant enterprise of  
Death and disease

"It's a dark place"
He says
A parliament light
Between his fingers

He tells me about
A twenty five year
Old who has
Muscular dystrophy
Named anthony

"You should see him clam
Up around this aid, Caitlin.
All he wants to do is talk
To her."

A man
A boy really
Two years younger
Than me whose body
Decided to eat itself
One day
Who still gets nervous
Around pretty nurses

"He'll be dead in five years."

He tells me about Joyce

"She collapsed in the
Airport on her way back
To England. Shes been in the
Home for seven years. Her
Family doesn't have enough
Money to bring her home.
She told me it's all about the dash."

The dash? I say
Tipping the green
Bottle up and draining
The last warm slug of
Beer into my mouth

"Yeah, the dash.
On your tombstone.
It doesn't matter what date
You were born or the date
You die. What matters is the
Dash in between them."

I leave later than I should
When music comes on
The car radio I turn it off
And drive with the windows
Down.