Dribble
care
luscious

against
a blinding white
refrigerator door

no

I don't care
that juice is dribbling
down my chin

it was so luscious
tasty
and flavorful

whit howland © 2021

a light
quick
burst

metallic and shiny
purple flesh tones
corncob pipe

bubbles
rising
fizzing

so so much fun
but
so so short

whit howland © 2021

rising
and falling

but shallow ragged
agonal

breathing

gag
reflex choking

the world
heavy on my and your shoulders

imposing looming
you and I

collapsing
under our own weight

whit howland © 2021

inkblots
ever-morphing
clouds

but now
conforming

"Everything
in life  is luck"

"Maturity of mind is the capacity to endure
Uncertainty."

into a gray black
black thunderhead

“Dig deep & pull the roots of confidence from the ground of your being, standing firm in the raging storm
until sunlight blossoms inside you.”

heavy slashing drops
of rain

pelt
a dull steel gray bucket

making the metal
CLANG

"I was born for a storm
and calm does not suit me."

whit howland © 2021

If  there are ghosts
they are of
the friendly variety

rippling
white sheets
and eyeholes

floating
down
the hall

but not you
and never again
will it be you

your face
erases
and grows fainter

each
and every
day

whit howland © 2021

a platter a piece
of ham

and eggs
that are green

but it's your definition
of green

that
worries me

for not only
do I have certain tastes

in my shades
of that color

I have my preferences
for how

I like my breakfast
served to me

and I prefer
a bit more truth

and a little less
power

whit howland © 2021

Oh
heart-shaped box

you give me no
quarter

and no room
to think

beyond
your borders

whit howland © 2021

our memories
like petals

scattered
about the ground

far too many
to collect

we are losing
each other

I can feel the
slippage

but we'll keep
digging

whit howland © 2021

Not even close
to something

as fine as
you

rolled
coffee brown

and neatly
trimmed

a sweet
Tobacco burst

of sunshine

I am talking about
a cigar

seriously

it is just
a cigar

whit howland © 2021

And I'm reminded
of that night

an argument

the never-ending loop that rip tide
we were caught in

our fingers
trying to break free

of the bamboo handcuff
that bonded us

and it's futile to ask
what happened or try

to make sense of what
it all meant

whit howland © 2021