Like a newborn sparrow in a tall tree nest
You hunker down with your beak wide open
Chirping for a worm.
But you’ve broken my wings so many times
I can no longer fly
And I flop helplessly amongst the branches
Watching as we starve.
                   ljm

You are standing on the nose of my
Mona Lisa,
from there,
see the stare, 15 degrees,
-you must wonder
what did she see, the stare, this
other way, standing over there near
where
you will be, askance, first glance,
- it not only seems small
- it is in actuality small
you'll think, I promise,
after scuffing the nose of my
Mona Lisa in chalk,
designed to emphasize the nature
of art in our imagination,
one magnitude larger.

I want to seashell hunt in the stars,
discover pieces of your laugh
scattered on windy shores of Mars.

One day my young niece was showing me some photos of herself and her
  friends on her phone
She had loads and loads of these photos
I was thinking to myself I don't think anyone's taken a photo of me in forty
  years,
Then I thought what'd happen if I got famous and someone wanted to write
  my biography (would be a short book)
And they'd say Give us some of your old photos to stick in the Book
And of course, I'd have a problem, I'd have no photos to give them,
Then I remembered there was this Novelty Joke shop in town
They had a great collection of all these different kinds of wigs
I thought maybe I could buy a few wigs then stage a few photos
Pretend they were from earlier days,
Yea, I could get an Elvis wig with the sideburns, I could say that was my
  Rockabilly stage
Then I could get a big Long Hair wig and say That was my Hard Rock
  phase,
I could get a Mohican wig and say Well that was what I looked like when I
  was a Punk Rocker
And Hey! Maybe I could get one of those lovely big blonde Dolly
  Parton type wigs
I could say
"Well that Summer I was listening to a lot of Country music".

I know I dreamed of you

so shoot me
bury me in an unmarked grave

and in a 1,000 years
archeologists will dig me up
only to discover
a dusty pitcher of margaritas
still cold

the ashes
of a half smoke cuban cigar

and the picture of you.

midnight dark
is my true love’s kiss
of clove and citrus scented

cradled in the subtle
woven voices
of the conspiratorial night wind

soft as the silver-blue
edges of light
cast from nocturnal lanterns

sharing in silent thunder
secrets held in coffers
of crimson jade

blazing with the vibrance
of constellations
blown before celestial storms

full as skyward Luna
rounded and buxom
heavy with desire

veiling my worldly sight
so her truth can pierce me

blinding me
that I may see

She is my unopened
present
my box of regrets,
the locked door;
the letter without
a stamp.

I'm a
flower without
soil
A fish on the
beach.
I'm a lame dog,
and the gray in
a beard.
I'm an
albatross on a
gray sky,
a ship lost
at sea.
I'm the unanswered
words...
Marry
me.