The city is loud with chimneys,
bristling with dimpled sky dishes,
afloat in a dammed lake of sunset fenestration,
beneath unwitnessed, unappreciated clouds,
its streets a grid of flowless canals,
to the music of "Hey, mister, got any change?"
Oh,
but,
when the lights go down,
and the pretty people come out!
and the beef bouncers sort snort the buzzing sequin queen queues
for the sparkle dance houses,
the city,
the city,
can one ever get enough?

Your basket of words
were in the bulrushes.
I'm holding them,
still moist from your pen.

one inch of snow fell,
called an "emergency" here,
Yankees smile & grin :-)

This evening,
when you are reading
in front of your fire hearth,
I will be the flames warming you.

**** the rhyme,
**** the reason,
the oceans swell
from one finite water well,
frozen fjords melt, disrupted weather spells,
One ******* big piece of trouble I'm here to tell.

If errant words were kites
that could be so easily drawn,
or a passing cloud
where one could wait
the passing shower,
but the danger of errant words is
that once unsheathed
they may cut as if a knife.