broken ocean glass
jagged edges sanded smooth
found glistening blue

In a chef's shop was a dish towel
It beckoned me twice and finally picked it up
It read stressed spelled backwards is dessert
She was taken to a register and became a souvenir
I had her framed and mounted and she is hanging in my kitchen
Savannah Georgia reminds me daily
Stressed spelled backwards is dessert
Eat it, Create it, digest it and believe it.

C@rainbowchaser2021

The cool aquamarine water
ripples

as it kisses the skin
and we move like fish

fumbling

in self-induced darkness
to the cadence

Marco
Polo

accidents
collisions

as well as serendipitous
discovery

whit howland © 2021

It is later than late,
the simmered down darkness
of the jukebox hour.

The hour of drunkenness
and cigarettes.
The fools hour.

In my dreams,
I still smoke, cigarette after cigarette.
It's okay, I'm dreaming.
In dreams, smoking can't **** me.

It's warm outside.
I have every window open.
There's no such thing as danger,
only the dangerous face of beauty.

I am hanging at my window
like a houseplant.
I am smoking a cigarette.
I am having a drink.

The pale, blue moon is shining.
The savage stars appear.
Every fool that passes by
smiles up at me.

I drip ashes on them.

There is music playing from somewhere.
A thready, salt-sweet tune I don't know
any of the words to.
There's a gentle breeze making
hopscotch with my hair.

This is the wet blanket air of midnight.
This is the incremental hour.
This is the plastic placemat of time
between reality and make-believe.
This is tabletop dream time.

I have never owned a pet
I borrowed them from God
to test my humanity
put another's needs first
teach me about unconditional love

there is a special place
in my heart they always have
when they go
it is a little darker and quieter
but it always belongs to them

their time is short
I want to make each day
their best and
in my clumsy selfish way
make them human