used to try writing raps
my version of stealing from blacks
near had a heart-attack over the fact
aint nothing worse than a white assed mac
back to the roots with my poetic muse
but I refuse to lose the blues
or act like they aren’t my bad news
see, I too have worn out shoes
solidarity and commonality through being poor
letters to Santa scratched into the cold dirt floor
always living hungry, afraid to ask for more
only thing ever offered freely was access to the front door
you know..  “complaining ***, get the **** out”
leaving very little room for anyone to doubt
there was nothing of my station granting me any version of clout
and fingerprints across my face were the answer to a pout
now I just stick with poetry, was never really a thief
well except that little piece of coral from the Hawaiian reef
or my trip to Jamaica when I ripped off that spleef
or the time after all that trimming I had 11 pounds of keef
those are all lies I have barely been off the west coast
I wanted you to be impressed so I had to try and boast
like that was the only way you would think I was ‘the most’
guess I will go do my Elwood impression and have some plain white toast

stubbly cheek and chin run along
a smooth creamy leg
the faint sent of pre-*** wafts
as a slight moan escapes her lips
the back of a rugged hand brushes away
fallen hairs
laying haphazard across a face
engrossed in ecstasy
gently rubbing the nub behind decorated *******
drawing forth inadvertent twists
and a few giggles and excited noises
teeth grip and tug at elastic
exposing a trimmed and curly
treasure trove
I dive with abandon
enjoying a meal
saved just for me –

tan hair with white spots sway in the passing breeze
black hooves clatter against the asphalt
large blue eyes reflect in the Halogen headlamps
and I try to swerve without killing everyone in the car –
standing above the fallen baby
I can only sigh as my heavy chest heaves
as the sight of my first ****** in near 20 years
sends me reeling.
Bumper be ******!
light fixtures can be replaced through a junk yard
(or refurbished/ new-to-you auto parts center if you prefer)
this was a life!
Somewhere in the trees, she watches me…
the mother who carried this precious angel to term,
suckled and nurtured its tiny body,
taught it to hide and to survive…
all but me and this road –
Picking up pieces of plastic
and scooting the lifeless body to the berm,
I take one last look at my new karmic debt,
…………..
We shoulda ate it. –

slight wisps of frankincense
    traveled to the ceiling
looped and swirled
     before attempting to dissipate ~

within the smoke’s
                                 last throws
     his ghost
                arose
and our eyes met ~

locked in a spacial gaze
my emotion could not contain
      tears fell as my body
                       shook
fear overtook me as
etheric lips parted ~

a voice formed
           deep inside my skull
                 slow and steady
                    guttural mumbling
began to take shape
                    form words ~

a message of perfection
was imprinted on my mind
     complete with feelings
         surrounding order and place
I was exactly where I was
                 supposed to be
doing the very thing
       I was born to do~

inhale    exhale        blink
spongey texture filled the void
    off white and shabby
laughter found sound
and a smile beamed forth
          the ceiling
                    was perfect   /

cumulonimbus
bringing of rain
bowling gods
beware Auntie Em
jutting high like a mushroom cloud
look mommy a castle in the sky
poufy pillows piled into the stratosphere
cirrus
wispy feathers touching space
lightly floating on jet stream currents
resembling the wings of angles
always so far out of reach
morning mist
dragons breath
ground temperature mingles
with slight variations in the air
sending tendrils stretching and elongating
shadow monsters spin the shroud
and faceless nameless shapes
distort in the low laying fog bank
altocumulus
rows of bubbles fading to infinity
contrails
and chemspray
naturally
snaking across the heavens
maintaining form against
surface wind gusts
lines front the cold front
look mommy
racing stripes –

glossy thick succulent leaf
collecting dust behind bars
and walls of brick and concrete
pushing forth delicate pink blooms
in a place void of color
sans the blue gear
of the incarcerated man
variegated patterns
soft red lines weave
amongst the dark green meadow
as if streams after a spring torrent
were breaking new paths though fields of green
seeking a river or creek
a transporter to grant them every droplets wish
a trip to the ocean
varying stages of bloom
crispy dried
and new buds barely escaping
just offering the slightest breath of color
gifting the drab yellow walls
a splash of hope
tinged with pink –

dingy yellow
peeper
crossing the prison yard
as if crime and punishment
were faded reality
waddling with purpose
to a low spot
flippered feet slip discretely
into what seems only a mud puddle
but for this brave baby
the entirety of his aquatic life
learning to swim
and forage
where the hardest of convicts
drop hundreds of pounds
back into the weight pile –

brambles hide the brown thrush’s nest
giving seclusion and isolation to pink skinned babes
mouths agape, little wings outstretched
beckoning to be given a small taste
of life giving nourishment –
tiny bills protrude  
offering slight squawks of discontent  
eyes unable to open as the curse of youth stands strong
even in the avian kingdom
undeterred, miniscule vocal cords push forth
with the force of fear of death driving
chirping into the void
awaiting mother or father
and the blessings they bring –
satisfied on meal worms and grub bodies
three lads nestle in for a quiet nap
as a warm Spring breeze passes nearly unnoticed
except for the movement of brier leaves
and the rustle of newly forming feathers –

inserting the curved blade
right next to the *******
of a downed doe
he made a smooth and easy slit
right to the base of the chest plate
the entire gut pile slid near into his lap /

surely my skin matched the grey eyes of death
as I watched him snip
a long green ******
from a steaming red liver…
the heart was next pulled and gently placed
into a hat holding a giant liver
his eyes twinkled with pride
as he looked up at me /

my first **** was a good one
317 yards
set the crosshairs
right at the backbone
bottom edge of the neck
223 bullet hit the front shoulder
and rolled into the armpit
sent bone fragments shooting
through the lungs and heart…..
I was a murderer /

the hollow carcass matched my heart
as I shouldered the load
and trudged back the 1.2 miles to camp
only stopping twice to re-adjust my doom
the smell of blood
the weight of killing
and a fat alfalfa fed doe
led me to a difficult conclusion /

at 15 I had spent 8 years tagging along to ever trap line
each fishing trip not during class hours
multiple poaching’s
and now my first legitimate ****, solo…
my head spun /

wrapping the body in a mesh bag
and hanging it in a Juniper
I looked up at my shame
and over into my father’s eyes…

it was the last time I killed…
outside of the occasional mosquito
or spider … /

~
Cockroaches track cigarette ash over the table
and across the window sill.
A thin, scabbed, tattooed hand rocks the bassinet
and a sleeping baby is bought in
and out of sunlight distorted by bent mini-blinds.
As she scans open and empty cupboards wondering
how she can still produce milk, an expected knock
comes. Frantic eyes scan for signs of stirring
as she needs her little prince to sleep through the trick.    /

irritated energy
as unwelcomed questions
surface, and show themselves in public…
not one to have my character questioned
regarding key personality components
I freak out and threaten
to quit
to leave
to scream indignantly,
but to **** it up and accept
quietly do better,
that would be something special –
red faced hate machine
bent on self-destruction
and starting over
doesn’t care about the opinions of others
disregards constructive criticism
knows better than you,
and is the best in is field –
it is not the easiest thing to admit
when one has been in the wrong
to openly take attitude
and stand tall in the face of
hostile undermining…
this,
is something I will have to work on –

I pulled him in the little wagon
the dry grass was browned by the sunshine
his joyful squeal egged me on and I ran faster
the uneven ground was deceptive
and one wheel caught a hidden old gopher hole
the wagon bounced high and flipped
as I let go I saw a different expression on his face
one of terror and uncertainty…
the wagon flew towards the old red house
as I tumbled to the ground
I looked back to see tears trolling down his cheeks
but of laughter, not pain
when finally he could catch his breath
he simply uttered,
“can we go again?”

I watch the dogs roll in the grass
watch them eat new shoots.
I watch the thrush on the fence post
watch it peck at something in its talons.
I watch the sunrise over the Cascade foothills
watch rays of morning light pass through distance fir trees.
I watch the leaves burst forth, elongate, turn green
watch them fade to brown, fall, and slowly make their way to the forest floor.
I watch the rise and fall of my lover’s chest
watch her sleep peacefully in the bed next to me.
I watch the second hand
watch it strain for each new minute.
I watch my eyes in the mirror
watch wrinkles form on the outer edges.

I look across the garden
look at all the medicine growing.
I look down at my hands
look at the roughness of a lifetime of toiling in the soil.
I look at my little black and white cat
look at the patches of missing fur.
I look back over my shoulder
look at what I have left behind.
I look at the stars in the quiet of night
look at the vastness of our galaxy.
I look into the coy pond I dug by hand
look at the fish still swimming the same circles five years later.
I look at the bamboo I planted to give them shade
look at the disaster of an invasive species taking over.

I see her in the window
see her looking back at me.
I see the sun high in the sky
see little droplets of sweat form along my forearm.
I see the faces of children in magazines
see them with flies on their eyeballs.
I see the shapes of divinity in the flower pedals
see the Mandelbrot’s in crashing waves.
I see my reflection in the pool
see concern and worry upon my brow.
I see my mother barely breathing in the Hospice home
see the last moments of her physical life.
I see the future
see it in blurry visions of death and despair.

One day while taking a dump
I considered a President Trump
My *** got so light
I could not see the light
Then suddenly shat out a stump
Speech that was of my own
Something internally grown
A speech for mankind
That would give piece of mind
And I went running right out of my home
Into the street… oh no a big truck!
And wouldn’t you just guess my luck
I wasn’t quite dead
But the hit on my head
Turned my stump speech on Trump into junk
You can imagine my sadness and shame
For the country I took all the blame
Could have saved the day
If I had looked both the ways
And now things will stay just the same –

~


I see his face in the smoke
      though he has only gone fourteen days
I feel the weight of absenteeism

It is only proper for a twenty year old man
              to leave the nest
strike out on his own and find his way in the world

                  it is only normal for me to suffer this loss
                      for I not only have lost a son
                               but a friend

but loss to too harsh
      four hours travel time is not eternity
                     it is distance
                         and that space holds weight

this is a positive story
      of evolution and growth
natural order and regular happenings
I can’t help
feeling sad
            
               I might be wanted and loved
                    but I am no longer needed  /

absentmindedly picking individual notes
plucking the ole acoustic
fingerpicking style
she moves into the room
silently
and sits alongside me
right on the dog hair coated floor
and hums along
as if it were an actual written tune
softly I feel her head light upon my shoulder
and my heart nearly skips one beat –

metallic morning mouth
like the aliens were seeing
how much metal
this big ole mouth could hold
then taking selfies
#bigmetalmouth
on Pleadian Instagram
smiling Grey’s
giant black eyes
shinning into the Iphone –
when I awoke
my hat was too small
and my denture too big
because they don’t always
put me back right….
or they leave a clone Sam
to mindlessly fill in
just a couple days….
(Which is why I can’t post poetry all the time)
you know,
while my actual body
is paraded
placed in a zoo
and spectated at…
like we do with lesser creatures –
I wonder what they feed me
or, if I maintain stasis
perhaps if I were more diligent
about my caloric intake
I could monitor these trips
based off variations
in blood sugar
and cholesterol levels
video proof
of being force fed
sushi through a tube
pureed rice and fish….
One morning
i woke to refracted light
dancing across my walls and ceiling
with a strip in the sky
to match the rainbow
I sat alone
as a young lad of maybe five
wondering if this was always
going to be a part of my life……
short answer,
yes –

~


Heat mirage on sandy soil
disintegrating cirrus left from the cool night
skittering horn toad flattens to hiss before
leaving the sunbaked earth
for shadowed hollow protections.

Large red-bottomed fire ants
carry back to a simple hole cuttings of magpie
they store foodstuffs for the hard months ahead
while cleaning the land of rotting bodies.

Hollow bones stripped of flesh
begin to bleach and crack
stiff winds pile feldspar and quartz along the western edge
of a bird long free from nest building and chick rearing.

Only a passing coyote gives the magpie body a second thought
before turning west towards dancing foothills.   /

those light blue eyes of hers they captured me
just like a life raft being tossed at sea
I knew right then that I could never be
without the love that so enraptured me

I shifted my thoughts to a future time
free together without the hate or crime
nobody singing that they need a dime
the whole world living with some peace of mind

like we were flying on white wings of dove
spreading a message sent from up above
call it god or maybe alien love
collective consciousness needing a shove

sure, rhyming poetry is total ****
even when the truth comes along with it
counting syllables is so not legit
makes me crazy like I might have a fit

but right back to her and all that we share
the way she smiles and her wavy hair
what you think of me I just do not care
because our love is way beyond compare

I can keep this up for so many lines
I used to write this way all of the time
thought my poetry was ******* sublime
it turns out I was nowhere near my prime

for her love it keeps inspiring me
just like the mountains or the raging sea
a love much stronger than a rooted tree
and without her love there would be no me

I’ll round this off with just one parting word
though some of you may find this thought absurd
our love it flies on the wings of a bird
of this truth I am completely assured –

nervous energy mingles with excited anticipation
forms filled and references collected
applications and sample writings
placed elegantly into
the large manila envelope
properly addressed
and postage applied
the waiting game commences –
did I do everything
was everything checked
bubbles filled
number two pencil only
am I good enough
can I make it
will I succeed
do I dare take the step
dip an aged toe into cool waters –
balanced attacks often
lead to lackluster victories
trophy-less athletes
line unattended playing fields
with honorable mentions
going only to the fallen
band geeks –
seeking a Masters
for fun and education
professor Temple
at the helm
leading poetry writing classes
for the incarcerated masses
lucky enough to receive call-out passes…
glass cleaner flashing crass
as the white board mocks me
asking simply,
“have you graduated yet?”

panic
sweat
palpitations
the future comes in 2 weeks and I am not prepared
eyes dart seeking fixed points
only blurred lines shine back
attacking sanity
slowly
last words flow
presenting the last graded goal
satin accomplishments
cord of a distinguished nature
fronting flat black and pride
what comes after
after the accolades
fanfare
kudos
after its over and I am human again
instead of a research machine bent on the Dean’s list
will I remember freedom
self
joy
can I reconnect to my family
after years of isolation
will they accept me
with B.S. behind my name

a loud click rings through my head
two teeth meet where once
fingernail lived
as if I were a ******
tiny little gnawing nibbles
travel 72% across the plain of my nail
when at once a slip
pulling tear…
upon inspection and to my horror
what was a clean cut
has become jagged and frayed
looking like an oak bough
with long hanging moss
but this moss is attached to the nail at large
gripping the offender tightly
and with a quick jerking motion
an attempt is made to remove the blight
without pain or fanfare
to my dismay it breaks free
just at the edge of the nail
I can see the reddening start…
immediately those same to teeth go to work
biting and twisting the tiny attached shard
drool trickles to the second knuckle
as I, totally engrossed, do my best cannibal impression
removing my finger from my mouth
a deep sadness cross my face
there will be no way to avoid bleeding….
with a renewed vigor akin to feverish
I once again attack my own hand
teeth gleaming, ready to savagely destroy
the surrounding flesh
I feel myself clamp down
frozen with fear I slowly pull my head back
tearing skin makes a slight squeak
and an iceberg emerges from my nail crotch
instantly I smash the now bleeding hole
into my tee-shirt
the stain a small price to pay
for the relief I will feel in a few days
once the swelling goes down –

paying to be published
is *******
is egocentric
is foolhardy
I think anyone taking that road
needs to rethink the meanings
of art and expression
writers for money
are ******…..
but it is easy for me to feel this way
I am barely published
and hardly known…
maybe I should drink more milk –
would I ***** it up if given the chance…
sure, I want to be recognized
I am a poet,
maybe even solid
and since Maya died,
there is a slight void
but nothing on this lovely rock
would create in me the need to pay
to see my name in print…
well, more than the ole sweat and tears –

angry wasp nest
meets
disturbed ant hill
the fire in her eyes
has the ability to forge
lightning lacks the intensity
of raw female emotions
wasting years trying to understand
how such unabashed hostility
phollowed by a ***** phrenzy
equates love, honor, and commitment
it is not mine to openly question
only to accept with open arms
as she is the gift from above built special
just for me
as I am for her
I just don’t live irritation
well, I do
just second hand

as a white American
few words hold power
the strength to stop traffic
the ability to curb enthusiasm
the worth to end conversation
‘****’ is such a word –
to write ‘****’ barely
invokes an emotional response
just four little letters on a page
written in such a way as to possess
meaning
through the organization of
consonants and vowels
creating a linguistic circus
which we can all enjoy…
**** –
merely slang for a feminine body part
or saved for those who infuriate us
nearly beyond measure
we throw it around, but not haphazardly
like those silly British:
tossing bleeding ***** for fun and frolic
while ******* a ***…
ah, the majesty of vernacular
**** –
she acted in such a way;
he made me so mad;
that dog **** on the floor;
come here honey, let me lick it
stick it
and slap it once for old time’s sake
**** …
more magic than Siegfried and Roy
especially when offered to a young boy
as a shiny new toy …
****
who knew it could bring forth both
such pain and such overwhelming joy
**** –

1 –
backlit hand drummer
perspiration flies
low cloud hangs
feet in rhythm

2-
jiggling flesh
paint smears
and runs
musky lust fills nostrils

3-
fat fingers pound
pressure variations
timeless chanting
congas and djembes howl

4-
shutters snap
cellphones extend
capturing images
leaving feeling to memory

5-
eyes sting
throats contract
dust and sweat mingle
rivulets of joy
delta

slow, deliberate…
painstakingly
the second hand struggles
against Swiss made gears
diabolically, the mechanism shifts slightly backwards
before making the push into a new moment
causing extra sweat and a flash of panic
so goes the process
until the surrender unto darkness and fantasy
grip eyes straining to see the next tick

t’were the fattest of heads
got lodged in the slats
poking through red faced
freckles seemingly expanding
from a cavernous face hole
came the moaning of despair
the wail of youthful embarrassment
followed by the sniffling sobs
of one who has given up ~

water balloons flew
open-handed slaps
visited the wedged bully
spittle rained from above
a child with yellow liquid
told everyone he peed in a cup
as it streamed around his forehead
and passed his cheek
we could all smell the lemonade ~

parents and police
firetrucks and tears
fat headed bully was finally freed
glowing face became soft pink
leaving only the freckles and hair
to show red in the evening sun ~

steaked cheeks flashed angry eyes
fists clinched and opened involuntarily
silent mutterings of vengeance played
across bloodied and bruised lip skin
he closed his eyes tight
picturing only his father’s pistol
and the lunchtime
or recess
that would change everyone’s life /

glancing up over the top of her reading glasses
looking at me, smiling
fingers extend out towards my resting arm
and we touch –
gathering blooms from the miniature rose bush
light footfalls in the garden beds
a soft exhale passes my ear as delicate fingers fall onto my shoulder
and she touches me –
checking the blind spot before a left turn
reaching out absentmindedly to turn down the radio
as I have thought of another inconsequential piece of random…
fingers touch my leg –
soft flutes signify the work alarm has sprung into life
encrusted eyes struggle to open against the new breaking day
a slight change in the steady breathing means she is also awake
she reaches over to touch my exposed back –
each day new ways come to light
every moment new feelings of excitement and peace
I close my eyes to think of her beauty and grace
and I am touched –

deep blue of twilight
fading shades to washed-out green
sea-foam aquamarine
mingling perfect with watercolor splashes
oranges blend with vibrant pinks
opaque vermilion
washing the morning sky
silhouetted, Jefferson stands statuesque
glacial peak steadfast
perfection via shape and form
swerving to regain control
I turn the Kia down Joseph St.
and stop staring in the rearview –

On the counter sat a faded black and white photograph
a young woman’s face smiled bright with hope for the future
a future that included me and my brother, a husband,
and one lover only she really liked.
A cough caught my attention and I looked at her wrinkled face
it had been days since any eye contact
since food had passed those dry, cracked, and peeling lips,
instead a small pink swab attached to a plastic white stick
brought dabs of moisture to a shriveling tongue.
Candles burned around her high school graduation picture
dark wisps of ashy smoke braided itself and disappeared
I took a cold unresponsive hand in my own
and thought about how many more times I would be able to touch her.
Each room in the facility held the same story
though none of us spoke to each other during those days
aside from an overly friendly care giver trying to delicately
flop a body around to change sheets or clean soiled sundries.
Mom’s breath stopped…
just at the moment when fear of being an orphan
had locked my chest in God’s own vice grip
she exhaled.
I laid my head against a cold steel bar
there to protect her from falling out of bed, but also
to  keep me from crawling in and wrapping my arms around her body
in an effort to keep her warm.  /

~



mouths move
               gestures grant meaning

                            some smiles pass
                                   and
                          animated flailing follows ~

     one set of eyes
        does not register    
          my observation
   the droning facilitator
              ******* life and air
        from forced bodies ~

the second hand slips gears
                 time reverses

mounting stress and
         flipping pony tails
              an adjusted power tie
                                  tucked into a grey blazer ~

How long has that coffee cup
                    been floating?    /

Her eyes,

deeper than any artesian well,

capture me

completely.

slowly building
towards a stress crescendo
soft winds picking up volume
undiagnosed weight pressing
smashed face pressed against
unpaid bill pile
drool
staining the pain bringers –
death and illness become the standard
conversation
each attempting to outdo the other
with a more tragic tale
woe is a me-bop
set to ancient Traffic outtakes –
unable to wipe away the angst
no matter how many times
rough hands
clasp
worried eye ridges
molding cheek skin like a child with new clay
praying the answers will fall from a pore
worry lines hide youth
adult life ***** vitality
Daniel Lewis, “drainage” –

Mountain stream,
barely flowing, a trickle really
cascades down the rock face
largely evaporating before tumbling
to the slight puddle below
the wannabe torrent meanders slowly downhill  
grabbing the occasional leaf
and transporting it to the valley –
foam bubble travelling the length
finds itself stuck on a small waterlogged
bramble branch
being pulled and distorted,
its rainbows playfully dance
casting light onto shadowy bank caves
looking at how much journey has passed
excited about what it to come –
dislodged pebble bounds along the creek bed
sending  old crawdad claws
and remnants of fish **** particulates
swirling and careening though the rippling brook
as the tiny boulder strikes the bramble,
the pebble finds a new home
while the bubble continues its long overdue journey –
a wind in the tree tops sends
helicopters and pine needles soaring
spinning and falling without care or forethought
the tiniest sharpened end of a pine needle
drops tip first
into the bubble
as it travels peacefully down…
a sudden ‘pop’ and the forest falls quiet
seems the wise ole owl will collect again….
he is the only one always betting on bubble failure –

~





like a pendulous cow udder

    taut and round



            the morning clouds
                                               seemed to ask




would you like a drink of rain  /

I stepped out of the Honda
and onto the sidewalk
for the first time in my life
I was keenly aware of both my skin color
and the lack of any similarity
as I scanned my surroundings
brotha’s shoulder to shoulder
lined the fence
every ten or twelve feet
there were groups
five or six deep in circles
many eyes cast glances my way –
at the corner the stranger and
would be savior
offered me a wooden handle
serrated blade
kitchen steak knife
presenting it as a way to feel safe….
I laughed…
“No one is going to see me take a knife from you”
“I am just a sick ******, man… I don’t want no trouble.”
he laughed back at me and with me
“Don’t sweat, Cuz…”
“I was a homeless ****** in Seattle for a while,
we’ll take care of ya.”
I stood for what seemed an eternity
at this makeshift park/ work-out station
looking down the alley at tarps
against tarps
strapped to tarps
and thought this was not the L.A.
you see on T.V. –
about the time I was sure I got robbed
and was now going to have to find my car
and leave downtown
broke
and sick….
dude rounded the bend…
he spit into his hand
at a glance I saw ten little balloons
containing something dark and mysterious
a smile spread across my face
he matched my excitement
and offered me safe travel back to my ride
when we got back to the car
I dropped two balloons and 10 bones
into his ashy and worn hand
he smiled,
“get the **** on outta here, boy”
I took his advice and drove out of Los Angles
right back up Hollywood Boulevard,
past the freaky freakies
and the mass of homeless
to the first rest area on the freeway…. –

the heartless darkness harkens to her
shapeless under the flowing frock
a slight breeze sends wafting gauze
to shimmer in the blurred moonlight
foggy images of monstrous mystery
play just out of sight, frolicking in the early morn shadows
pre-dawn on a night lit slightly by the waning moon
distorted stars shift effortlessly as the mist swirls
around delicate and chilly ankles
from the window above
a vantage just overlooking the unkempt garden
I take in the scene and fall in love
all over again –

try as they might
I see through smokescreens
into darkness
and through walls –
gifted with secret sight
I am unable to watch newscasts
without seeing biased framing
I cannot listen to political ramblings
without being inundated
by lies, deceit, and underhanded ball-washing
this is my lot
…and I accept it –
still, I would be remiss if I didn’t mention
the never ending pain experienced by those of us
gifted this way,
we never really live satisfied
as our contemporaries all flounder
lost in illusion…
we find ourselves unable to relate
to the society that created us
as our evolutionary path
surpasses the ordinary --

~



you look deep into my eyes
turn your head slightly to the left and
smile with teeth

I hold this moment all day until we
sit again within each other’s caress
I experience the economy of love

harsh truths of a life addicted
play in the backdrop of our marriage
she tells me we are o.k.

and I believe

as years blend and time fades
we share these moments of fresh air

as we travel hand in hand
this road of relationship

planning always for the next incarnation
and finding one and other lifetime after lifetime  /