Among the plethora
the eye plucks one falling flake
melting in my hand.

I desire to write only the words and lines required
to transport a thoughtful reader
into a contemplative moment of our own making.

There are two sides of town

The straight teeth side,
and the crooked side,

The private summer camp side
and the open hydrant side

The bedtime story side
and "get your ******* *** in bed" side

The balloon birthday side
and the birthday frown side

There are two sides to every town
Sometimes they meet on the same street.

In time
twenty years
will no longer be a lifetime,
but an imperfectly remembered fraction
'less you've been the rare one
journaling the everyday
that seemed so very unimportant way back then.

Step off the bank
into the oxygenated flow
of silver flashes
leaping upon,
in flaring rise toward
interior spawn basins,
catch one in the maw 'n claw
before it breeds a million cloned others,
only then to die a quick and fitting death.

Waisted daze and wasted tights
I have lifted you fair behind,
For you do belong to me,
Tho the cart belongs to someone else.

Why should I keep rubbing you
When I know I've made you blue,
And why should I rekindle flames
when you're to blame
for making me so huge?

Apologies to Freddy Fender

Don't eschew me through the haze
Remember that you called me "Hefty"
I was your one and only,
My fair Dove Bar.

Why should I keep rubbing you
When I know I've made you blue,
And why should I rekindle flames
when you're to blame
for making me so huge?

Apologies to Freddy Fender

Poet,
get out of your head,
and like a preparing photographer,
rucksack your tools,
include a horn of wine and a loaf of bread,
then get out there
and alien explore your world.