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?”

Her eyes,

deeper than any artesian well,

capture me

completely.

Fishnet impressions
cut into the wall paint
as passing car headlamps
momentarily shine across
conversational window treatments.
Shadow imaginations playfully dance.
Half-lidded eyes capture slight movement
and a barely coherent consciousness
begins to develop scenarios.
First, subtle impressions of cats of sills
and tree branches scrapping across tempered glass…
but then, a more sinister feeling takes hold
an encroaching doom and impending dread
fills nearly sleeping veins.
Trapped in stasis, hovering,
knowing sounds have meaning
but totally lacking any muscle control…
fear takes charge
and paranoia settles in for the night.
Certain that each creaking board
is a maniacal killer
bent on committing a random
and horrific ******,
sweat beads on a forehead
desperate for the ability to
hide under a sheet.
Compressor switching on
as the refrigerator activiates
sends new visions of forcible theft
and gang **** swirling.
Mental images of criminals
in ski masks
penetrating the spouse
and laughing
carry a restless mind
quietly back to sleep,
as the low, dull hum of
the hot water heater
gives the house peace for the night.

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

~
soup spoon discontent
                    blasé over cream of

where is the spice
      everything lacks flavor

just another boring old bowl
                 brimming with bland

if only a greened sprig
            where placed atop this fare

maybe I could stomach
                    the thought   /

nostrils flare as capillaries expand
rushing blood as the ******* rushes
pin-pointed eyes cannot hide
and I decide just one more hit –
stabbing wildly
the great vein hunter seeking
the most elusive of prey
…it’s a ******* wonder I don’t drop dead
obviously I have no veins…
how on earth is the blood traveling –
picking a spot only slightly tinged
my 25 percent Native American blood
leaves my skin mostly white…
but when I rub the pin hole
and the blood moves around, smeared
my skin takes on the hue of the red man,
I stab again, and again….
top of my left foot
edge of my big toe
in-between the first *******
the fatty part of my thumb
forearm, armpit, left arm, switch
wiping away blood
stabbing again
more blood
more stabbing
blood
stab
blood
stab
….the minutes turn steady
and the sweat drips in time
when in an instant it happens
the addition of a pink pastel
the recognition of acquisition
I have a vein
the near clear fluid travels
from the 1 cc
into me
and I am free
……………………………………..
………………………………………
for about 17 minutes –

a barely noticeable breeze
passed by the delicate pear blossom
and along its journey
caught my nose
the light fresh fragrance
became the universe
as I closed my eyes
and deeply inhaled  --
behind sunlit lids
my imagination created soft pink petals
dancing and twirling
barely attached to the larger twig
being folded and manipulated
by strong bumble bee legs
as pear blossom pollen
is gathered for a entitled
and specific queen –
further along the breezy voyage
the light scent transports me to a feast
guests grotesquely gorging
on the bounty
of a delicate pear blossom
allowed to pass away
and give life to fruit
harboring seeds
genetically coded
to create
delicate pear blossoms
caught in barely noticeable breezes
their wafting perfume
enticing one to
travel most beautifully –

sharp and stiff pangs
hit my subconscious
old feelings of loss and lament
seem to influence the sunny day
gathering clouds on the horizon
dark and foreboding
heavy with precipitation
and thick enough to blot out the natural light
daytime darkness
as my mood fills the space
outside of my pupils
and I brood,
sullen…
bird chirping takes the sound wave
of scrapping metal on the way to my ears
transformed and damaged
I hear only the scream of mined elements
blended with the slow death
of oxidization…
I rust too –

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 –

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 –

~




twisted copper

                  adorns this utensil

the weapon of choice

                over a sword
  


                        or pick ~



a relic

nearly forgotten...



my pen /

misrepresenting my joy quotient
as it seems I am living in a dumpster
coated with grime and debris
yesterday’s banana peelings
moldy coffee grounds
act like pepper flakes in my teeth
unshorn and raggedy
ripped jeans soot covered…..
it’s just not the case
as my cup
runnith over –
it is east of easy to ease into elation
at least for me
so when I find myself brooding
I embrace the experience
as an artist
as a sculptor
as a balanced human….
As I have a theory:
every atom that creates energy
which is anything in the known universe…
is made up of both positively
and negatively
charged particles
these particles are in balance
or the whole thing falls apart
(see nuclear fusion and fission)…..
therefore,
in order to be a balanced human
we must embrace both the positive
and negative aspects of life….
this marries itself to the idea
perception is reality
and what you perceive as
negative
for another,
might be the bee’s knees
in their eyes…..
which means all balance
is based off personal interpretation
or good or bad
plus or minus
positive or negative…
but Sam, what does this mean?
if it feels wrong to you, don’t do it….
if it feels right, do it…..
so long as these actions do not interfere
with choices of the other humans
you are guaranteed
heaven on earth –

I have lately been ending many social media postings with this gem:
But seriously, what the **** do I know –

Cascade foothill town
So many white faces shine
Winter skin, springtime

I sat on the grass reading a book of poetry
Relating different passages to my own life
Attempting to put myself in the shoes of the author
Reading and re-reading each and every line
Recognizing some deeper truth behind the words
Experiencing a kinship with this style of expression

I had to try my hand at this style of expression
Begin my journey into writing poetry
Make it a part of my life
Just as was the way with this author
But how to come up with a first line
How does one choose which words……..

I began searching for the best words
To encompass my type of personal expression
In order to create ‘Sam specific’ poetry
Something that would take on its own life
And become more than just the work of an author
For those in need, an actual life-line

But I had to begin with just a single line
Built of the greatest most impactful words
This would be the only way to release my expression
And truly encompass poetry
Make it the most important part of my life
Re-create myself as a successful author

But I was no real author
Just a man seeking the perfect starting line
A hunter carefully tracking special words
To give life to my joyful expression
Wishing only to give someone else what I received from poetry
Wishing to share this part of my life

I had never felt this way in my whole life
The way in which the language was used by the author
How cleverly crafted each single line
The purposeful choice of certain words
Creating a fully formed expression
Laid forth within the walls of poetry

My routes of expression changed with the addition of written words
Each line brought me closer to the dream of becoming an author
I knew that my life would be forever filled with poetry

recapturing a feeling
fleeting and forgotten
of love and peace
well-being and understanding
I have misplaced
my empathy –
once upon a time
I sought youtube videos
of children singing
and they brought tears of joy
to my aged and angry eyes
giving me pause
and a moment of quiet reflection
there was a time
in which I tracked down
high mountain lakes
to sit along side
and meditate on my connection
to everything around me
all of the time
…..seems a faded picture
on Kodak paper
from the late 70’s
figures blur and
distortion melds with
time ravaging oxidization –
there was a place
within my own mind
that gave me endless silver linings
constantly finding ways
to embrace optimism…..
though lately
I struggle to find that pathway
I miss old road signs
I pass overgrown landmarks
I forget what I am looking for…..
sitting within
staring out
seeking the old me –

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 –

lost in opinion
it no longer matters, the facts
only how ideology is presented
the loudest
gets the attention
the most vicious
gets the press
the rest of us
get to watch –
the ugliness of the opinionated *******
has become the standard
in which the United States
works under
the days of community based organization
with goals befitting the common man
are dead
replaced with selfie-sticks
and Instagram pre-teen twerkers
shaking ***** free from development
trying to shimmy flat chests
attempting to sexualize
childhood –
grossly negligent of truth
the masses pass gas and laugh
instead of begging pardon
and creating a social structure
that respects its citizenry
my blood boils
my stomach churns
as I feel my own guilt –
too quick to attack those who disagree
ready like a pouncing tiger
to spring and troll those I love
especially on social media
I have no feelings of compassion
I have no care for your thoughts
all that matters is that I am the loudest
ugliest
opinionated *******
in that given moment…….


But I tire…..

the hard truth is I am the problem
I am the troll
I am the hate speech monster
looking to poke holes in your theory’s
bust your *****
over just about anything
leaving nothing safe
but images of children
and the occasional cute pet……


I used to be such a nice guy….
maybe it’s time to leave the internet
and reconnect with myself
naturally –

Fully entrenched in my MFA program. Will start posting again in July. I plan on cleaning up my page and presenting myself slightly more professional.....slightly.

Love you all,

See you soon,


Sam

dusty bindings sit atop forgotten shelves
longing for interested fingertips
desperately wishing for fanfare
or even faint memories to stir –
fighting against the swelling tide
I lovingly caress faded pages
offering at least a moment of recapture
lost days of importance and worth
musty scents waft through
and I place the treasure
onto the scratched and marred countertop –
coins bounce and clatter
as someone’s life, pen to page
is sold, used, for less than one dollar
U.S. currency –
a wide and victorious smile
greets the waiting world
as I again escape my sanctuary
with the last vestige of constitutionalism
left free from attack,
at least for today…
tucked gently under my sleeved arm,
a cotton blend for warmth,
rests a good book
for comfort –

thick, cold, fresh, molasses
he answers slowly dripped
from crimson lips
bereft of compassion
as if empathy
were less than a ***** word
more a non-existent concept
both foreign and alien…
movements matching her mouthing
I could only shift weight
from one foot
to the other
as formulations and calculations
whirred just behind cautious eyes
caught off guard by the suddenness
she spoke quickly and clear
with such precise conciseness
I had to blink twice
“it’s a deal,” she stated,
matter-of-factly
elegantly turning away
and floating down the corridor
I thought to myself
what mess
had I entered today –

Oh! Aged pup with whiskers grey
slowly bounding, the want to play
offering barks at break of day
sad eyes long at the empty tray –

can you still: jump into the truck,
catch a squirrel with a little luck,
swim with fervor after a duck,
walk through the house covered in muck? –

one hundred pound lab/ mastiff mix
memories come complete with pics
got him 10 weeks, already fixed
11 years later… with a couple of tricks –

Looking back at love and good times
river tromping and gravel roads which would wind
joys and sadness’s fill my mind
thankful as I draw the last line –

knowing illness which would not be postponed
will take my pup away from his bones
leaving me broken, sitting here all alone
I will bury him in the hills he roamed  --

some will say it’s just an old dog
be of good cheer and lift that fog
leave behind the mire be free from the bog
try something fun, go for a jog

some folks just cannot understand
love from pets is a helping hand
no one better in all the land
as if this were all just pre-planned

some greater mind knew our limit
granted a companion, perfect fit
like bat to ball or glove to mitt
one who will beg, roll, stay, and sit

protecting friend or listener
alert you to danger with a simple grrrrr
so much better than a kitty cat purr
with variations on length of fur

yes, dogs are best for humans in life
next to a child, loved one, husband or wife
they stand right with you despite any strife
and have teeth and claws better than a knife

so go on and take a little advice
even if you have the risk of some lice
and dogs will do nothing to protect you from mice
but in bad times they will even eat rice

they prefer leg of lamb or some other meat
but in evenings so quiet they will lay at your feet
and be at the door for people to greet
while offering something to periodically beat

but animal abuse is against the law
and you’ll do some time if anyone saw
you beating a dog with a log or scrimshaw
besides who could hit such a cute little paw

no, ‘tis better to love all our animal brothers
and give them the love we show to our mothers
without going overboard and taking them as lovers
….no ******* the dogs in the bed under covers! –

my color keeps me safe
and warm
entrenched in a racist system
of hate values organized as political movement
try as I might,
there is no relationship between myself
and the larger country around me –
born Oregonian
only about 3 million of us as a state
the majority of the geography
votes red
the mass of the populace
lives in Portland proper
and makes the laws for the state
blue laws….
we are predominately white
predominantly rural
predominantly not well educated
welcome to my state –
no amount of reading
researching
or watching lamestream media
could ever gift me
with real understanding
of a ghetto
or poverty as it exists nationally…
we have homeless encampments
and minority communities
just small scale –
darting eyes scan the landscape
seeking connection to the national issues
attempting to relate to federal politics
finding instead
my lawn needs mowed
and my dogs need fed –
I am sure there are many of us
Caucasians
who would fight for solutions
who would stand of injustice
those of us who long to truly know the United States as free
as the land of liberty
and equality
as today,
those are myths I was told as a child
myths that not every American household uses
to put fussy children to bed –

rustling leaves
leave lingering pictures
of a babbling brook
under a leaning and twisted willow
whispering pines tell quiet tales
of squirrel forays
and moss expansion
while swaying gently
in breezes birthed in far off lands –
desert winds sweep
minuet particles of
ancient mountain ranges
and send them swirling on currents
driven by wind and waves
biting sand and snow
sting rosy cheeks
thousands of miles from the sun baked dunes
that gave life to the eroded –
migrating flocks sit locked
isolated and emaciated
waiting for paths to clear
and generational feeding grounds
to be open and thawed
tattered wings shield black eyes
and yellow beaks
from the grains blasting the land
after a global tour
floating on a cloud –

red-faced and bruised he sits sobbing
planning sweet revenge
the laughter echoes and bounces
filling cells with hate and contempt
to make them all pay is the only hope for joy –
the cold of the barrel brings flashes of flushing
lost in thought but with nothing on his mind
he stares into space cradling the answer
to see her face as she realizes
the shocked jocks when the explosions start
drunken shop teachers stumbling to the exits
footprints etched in blood –
pre-dawn preparation brings realization
and the recognition of superstition
a Sunday school memory of ****** as wrong
combines with an unexpected weight
as a backpack is hoisted to slouching shoulders
better to just bring the tool
which feels light as a feather –
hidden in the woods
staring at the school
contemplating redemption
barely audible is the click of the hammer
father always had a preference for revolvers
feeling slight pressure all he can do is squeeze –
classroom antics end with a start as everyone looks to the window
was is a backfire?
someone has firecrackers?
horror crosses childlike faces as a body is pulled from the woods
we all thought he was sick
guess we were right –

the mood,
influenced by the slightest breeze
changes with each gracefully passing cloud
sunlight waxes and wanes
bringing complaints
from ray worshippers

Ray looks up from his newspaper, startled
“Leave me outta this,” he says.

returning to the electric sky
my mind replaces cumulus clouds
with floating sea foam
churning in the wake
children body surfing
right over the top of a resting
Sting-Ray

Again, Ray looks up more sternly
“Knock it off!” he yells.

casting my thoughts back to the blue
a new vision rises from the ether
of soft tones and melodic tunes
of a gravelly voice
and the most marvelous ballrooms

Ray jumps up and shouts,
“Do NOT make a Ray Charles stanza!”

sheepishly, I move on to a new subject

sunlight glistens off latticed steel
one inch by one inch diamonds
a succulent sits in a window
open three inches
enough for a slight breeze
to permeate the drudgery –
body odor mingles
with ancient brickwork
as the ball sweat cheese wafts
through the narrow halls
encountering so much foot fungi
creating a medley of stenches
only partially conducive to learning –
the ever-present clacking of keyboards
qwerty in their fashion
keeps the static rustle of my radio muffled
but barely enough to be less distracting
that a lifetime of bad choices
and the damnable math GED test --

Oh, smile…
Why do you evade me?
Trump is just a man,
and the presidency is largely
a puppet position….
The boy is twenty and working
he desires to live on his own
soon it will just be the wife and I
living the dream…
my old dog has given me thirteen
wonderful years
unconditionally loving me
even if I was a bad owner early on
even if he had cheap food
while I will miss him,
this is not the first pet I have lost…..
oh, smile!
Why must I seek you?
Forever you have just been the constant
my most faithful accompanist
as if I were blessed to be happy
as life passes by….
lately, you evade me….
I feel your momentary and fleeting
presence
just long enough for me to remember
you live here….
I am sure it is the same
with any traveler
when you tire
of globetrotting
you will return, and I,
I will wear you proudly once again,
Oh, smile!

burly gents in waxed mustache
line wooden tavern walls
intently scoping fresh hams
eyes bulge and saliva drips

                                             one might think
                                                                   they never saw a woman


wolfishly staring pondering dinner
to chew through satin of blue
and expose soft pink delicacy
Cosby considerations in the lonely afternoon

Can I get you a          drink?
May I hold your                   purse?


lost in character  
the would be ******
holds the door
smiles
looking at an
apple shaped bottom
as they enter, together,
the establishment /

struggling to keep my eyes open
and stay awake
when sleep wants me, desperately
sandman tossin 60 pound bags at my face
and the incessant click-clack
of inmate keyboarding
has become the sweetest of soft lullabies
cooing and gently rocking me
a cool breeze ads to the comfort
enticing me to rest –
I catch myself locked into steady breathing rhythms
floating away on daydreams
barley capable of bringing myself back to ‘now’
the only way I am not sleeping on the job
in a most unsafe environment
is the occasional crackle of my radio coming to life
as somewhere in this facility of 3000 incarcerated
and 175 staff members
a shower issue has transpired
giving rise to a steady flow of C.B. communication…
normally this would be an irritant to not only myself
but also the students
diligently trying to accomplish their GED
but today,
it is a welcome alarm
a noisy reminder
to keep my eyes open
my wits about me
and hopefully get to 3 p.m. without being caught
or worse
fired –

Grit grinding between molars
Gnashed against the biting wind
I feel myself clamp down
Chomping at the bit to be safely home
Warming damaged toes
Upon burning ******* –
Lighting up a *** and feeling gay
Will be the way in which I celebrate my arrival
No longer supping on sand particulates
Dining gleefully on grime caught on a breeze
Nay, only sweet goose juice and fine wine
In the shape of kool-aid and burritos –
Grasping at my tattered collar
Pulling it close to my neck and chest
Red skin screaming
Chapped and irritated
Desperate for cover
Perhaps a nice toddy
And some Telly –
Visions of peace and warmth egg me on
the direness of my current situation
a catalyst for movement and action
only death by exposure
awaits me here
fated to the elements
with only a distant porch light
glowing
leading me home –

upon the
           grass
lollipops dance
    
        silhouetted

hangman’s noose

                 swings
                            above

thick sticky sweat rolled
     goose-fleshed back

afternoon swelter
         windowless cell

I broke loose the hypnosis
                    looked ‘round the mirage

      picked a perfect palm
                rested

thoughts melted with yesterday’s ice
cooler unhinged

              when will this end
                     when will it be cool again

summer lamenting blizzard precursor
unhappy humanity casting angry glances
               the sky
                    obliges /

I spoke with a friend
sitting outside a print shop
the wives, inside
due diligence
he and I
discussing the world
lite at first
weather and camping
young adult children issues
tempered with **** talk….
but the air shifted
and politics came onto the table
words caught in my throat
as I attempted to explain
I turned away as my eyes overflowed
removing a tear
I looked back, red-eyed
and puffy
for the first time in my life
100% sure
I am an American Patriot.

***
dripped on the stage
leather pants
and a flowing white blouse
eyeliner enhancing lashes
long and luxurious
cream colored ax hanging off to the right
as he looked deep into us all
and asked to get ***** –
I felt the pull of the purple rain early
became free to experience physical joy
without bounds
without limits
but with your
kiss –
iconic and stoic
never feeding the hype machine
but for public appearances
still driving the masses wild
with songs 20 years past their prime.....
I bought a beret today
and shed some tears
its color,
raspberry –

~


days expanding beyond mere hours
the long dark of winter sweeps the land
              wide brush strokes lay snow across canyons
                    famished mammals push thick undercoats
                            to the limits of temperature control

red chapped cheeks carry scarf string
holey mittens and thin thermals
           barely sway the frigid breath
                icicles stretch and grab
                            clawing at beanies

strollers set in the drifts
playground toys like sticks pushing the odd
                     single bar into the sky
                            one lone sled waits by the hill
                                   hard red plastic shell and yellow rope handles
                                             as isolated as an Antarctic station

my words fall as fog
spilling to the frozen ground below
               my thoughts held in the tundra
                       await the spring thaw
                             so that they might finally express
                                 the ‘buuurrrrrr’ that no one heard   /

back muscle spasm
falling into the chasm
like a rapscallion in a holding cell
images phantasm
plasma distorts
springtime fashion
I passionately question
a season of natural ******
babies play in open meadows
birthed with the new sun
bringing fruition
to the one calling
…procreate –
artificially inseminated
Holstein heifers
drop the next generation
still in sack
to the hard unforgiving ground
expectant of an instant jump
and suckle
hard teats secrete a wonderful feat
…..but it is stolen
and fed to innocent humans
to fatten them  
and placate them
for a different slaughter
lies upon red and clouded horizon –

~



sagged jowls
     speckled with tinsel
             flop as raindrops
                 jump and fly  ~
after
     sad dark eyes
          seek my own
              momentarily joined
                   both of us sigh ~
his body is lumped with tumor
     his breathing ravaged by time
          I look down and well up
             soon I will lose my friend  ~
from a 10 week old fuzz ball
            unwilling to walk down stairs
    to a 13 year old lab-mastiff
             unwilling to go peacefully…
my heart breaks
my head swims
             at the thought
                    my old dog’s life
                          will soon end  /

~




manicured greenery floats
the swirling mist gives the yard
the feel of a arena rock concert
and at any moment Mic Jagger might pop
up from below       microphone in hand
asking if Saint Louis was indeed
ready to party

instead a black and white Manx trots
in through the fog
looks up at my figure silhouetted in the window
and mouths some feline
morning greeting

if I were the type to drink coffee
now would be the perfect instant for a sip
followed by a nod and a long satisfied “Aaaaahhhhhh”
but this is not my life
so I press my hand against the frigid pane
until the pain becomes all I can think about

and both the cat
and visions of Jagger
fade into to dawn   /

sharp granules jut forth
piecing skin wrinkled  
crimson droplets leave paths
across white stucco
and dingy linoleum

yellow dots
speckle the lid
peanut butter smear
dulls the shiny silver handle

pattering feet
isolated hurricane
towels acts as wind gusts
dripping shorts a deluge

flying crust lands in green grass
flying youth lands in cool blue
screams fill the sky
but only rushing bubbles does he hear /