Two bottles of Southern Comfort, Black Keys on iTunes, profile picture with sister, stir-fry, 30 Rock, Gorillaz poster, pancakes at 3 am, spontaneous lunch at Barone, friends with benefits, need a hug, Columbus Day, touch my ****, too much tongue, crumpled into wall in the morning, Urban Outfitters for a t-shirt, silver medal, free Dominos, Workaholics at 12, secret sleepover #2, ******* because i thought that's all he wanted from me and i wanted him to stay, hickey on my neck, studying in a room with the round table, drew a horse on the whiteboard, fill out a police report, Redgates from Firehouse, he looks cute today. Tackled into metal, did I break my back? Jump on it, it's not funny, I'm crying, cold beer, kiss on the porch, stop kissing me in 12, *******, more kissing, blood everywhere, come over, comb through hair. you can stay over again, skips class, uses my shower, makes the bed, come with me to doctor. Vermont secret, Batmobile, on Prius, dune buggies, Phantom Menace, brother-in-law, supermarket in Newfane, stir-fry, statement at 6am. Hurricane, in my basement, halloween at the fire station, knitted scarf headpiece, mother's phone number, red gate sandwiches by Citi Bank across from library. Confirmation party, Chartruese, Coldplay at Mohegan, Torches, enchiladas, screaming, stuffed wolf, comic book finishing touches at 1 am, new roommates, L.O.L., I was going to propose to you - in the hallway, 3 month long orchids, Vermont trip #2, no riding allowed, nap by the fire, bare butts touching over unscented blanket, sapphire ring too big under lamppost in parking lot, happy. Sarasota, hide my eyes with Mosley Tribes, take a walk without me, Game of Thrones, cold sand, hair dryer joke, need eye drops, Ringling Mansion, gator bites, silent walk by traffic, kayak in shallow water, families too different, bike ride to tune of Star Wars, nervous about the summer, panic into shoulder on flight home. ******* in the middle of the night, drive around campus, leave me alone, pack up N-64 games, fight before final presentation - only one group gets an A, instant milkshake and magazines to pass the time, make a pizza, here let's make out again - apparently that isn't so bad, almost forgot my friesian mug and vase by the trailer. Texting *****, sick stomach, Lord of the Rings, try smoking, Magic: The Gathering, first communion, wedding, Chip's Family restaurant, high school graduation that I couldn't sit at, Miya's with the mini *****. Fireworks on hill through trees. Retna laptop with blue cover, HGTV's Next Design Star, I have to leave. this is where I stop.

I was there
the day they died;
don’t think K's mama
had time to cry.
You don’t know
the things I’ve seen;
You’d be surprised
to know I still dream

of Sarasota
and fists that gleam,
blue fifties queen
still waiting to glow.
John Dillinger,
my one true King,
and then there’s you,
my Savior.

cold corridor,
*** treasure trove;
where you are
is where I wanna go.
hold me close,
Daddy, don’t let go.
I’m terrified,
my time is close.

Heaven is
on Earth with you.
the ocean shimmers
nostalgic blue.
Jesus pleads with me,
"slow down the car,"
but I am God now
and my mind is far.

kaleidoscopes
glitter in my eyes.
Daddy don’t you fret
over my starry sighs.
bruised from your love,
so nectar sweet I could cry;
I swear I’ve been dead
until now.

as the sun softly sets
south of Sarasota bay
the gentle waves whisper
and the palm leaves sway

a rainbow of fire
lights the clouds as they pass
and rekindles my memories
of the years that have past

sand scrapes my skin
sea salt air fills my soul
the ocean at sunset
is where my hearts whole

He lies on his grey rug
Beats beating down the drumming dim drum of his heart’s racing thump
And visions of sugarplums become glowing green orbs
On his floor where he flew to light-years above
In a space where they fight with sabers and swords
That ignite only words with such terrifying blows
And he whines along to the morgueish melody below
He screams out the lyrics to prove he knows so
The tap of her foot to the beat of the bass
Makes love to the hairs stemming stars off his arm
But she doesn’t love him so he crawls to his bed
Left her to love the crispy carpet instead

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Relate Articles:
http://www.parents-choice.org/

they all tell me i
should leave you there,
but i'm too attached to go.
you loved me once on
the siesta key beach and
you promised me things
on my living room carpet
after we made love.

what happened to the man
who called me beautiful and
stayed up to see the sunset smile
on my golden flesh?
where did you go, my love?
i don't enjoy the slow
saturation of nectar tears
that trickle down my
cinema blue beaten face.

if i wanted to be used like
a piece of average teenage garbage
i would've stayed with the
drunken football player
or the alcoholic parolee
that loved me on a sheet next to
the street barely hidden by cars.
you're so worried about my past
that you can't see the blinding present.

my biggest regret was slipping you
into my ****** kiss the first time
i snuck out into the velvet night
to get a glimpse of you.
tell me, what makes you different
than ------ or ----- or ------?
you're just the same and as much of
a creep as ------- was.

you make me feel like i'm dreaming,
like i walk in a haze and i'm
tired of feeling crazy, summer stranger.
your threats don't frighten me
'cause they're emptier than your hollow ribs.
i'll call you when the moon rises and
the sun rules the tides or the bible parts
the seas the way you once parted my thighs.

Walking down the street, in a shopping mall, or going through an airport terminal, we never know  who we're standing or sitting next to, say hello to; make your day a 'FEEL GOOD DAY."
On your search browser-"You Tube", or "Google", type:

"Little Girl gives Coin to Street Musician"-(Spain)
"Homeless Man Plays Piano"- (Sarasota, Florida)
There are others, ENJOY!!

Richard

The bar squats at the bend in the road where Mill becomes Burden,
Walls somewhat recently painted,
Roof re-shingled ostensibly within memory
A derelict stockade on a front line where cowboy and Indian alike
Have each thought better of standing their ground,
Now defended by a few solitary souls,
Veterans of the days when the place hummed with those
Who’d finished shifts at Troy-Bilt or the Freihofer bakery
(Places either long gone or in the hospice stage,
The bar itself not profitable in any sense of the word,
Opening each afternoon for no palpable reason
Save some madness of inertia)
And who had not moved in with children in Latham or Malta,
Or gone to some frowzy, weedy southern trailer park
Sweating and sweltering through ninety-degree dawns
In Sarasota or St. Pete.
One corner of the building still bears a neon sign
Which sternly announces Ladies Entrance
Though, as the resident wits are fond of noting
Ain’t been no lady on the premises ‘n a month of Sundays,
But, on this particular evening, there is one of that gender
Haphazardly arranging herself on a stool
In search of a compromise between physical comfort
And simply remaining somewhat upright.
She is there in the company of a squat, *****-handed man
Who sits beside her, leering and yakking away
As he signals the bored and ancient bartender
For a couple more Buddy long-necks
(She cannot remember his name—Clyde, Clete,
In any case she’ll assign him an identity later.)
Their acquaintance is of a recent nature,
His end of the deal a burger at the diner on First Street
And a drink or two or three here
(There is a return on his investment, implicit and fully understood,
Though she has not—in her mind, anyway—reached such a point
As it needs to spelled out in plain English.)
She clutches, tightly though surreptitiously as possible,
For she occupies a social stratum
Where placing a death grip on something
Marks it as valuable, putting a bulls-eye
On object and owner as well,
A purse, a three-hundred dollar Coach bag
Bestowed on her by some gum-chomping Russell Sage undergrad
In a random, futile, wholly absurd gesture
(This was some time ago, and the bag, once a fiery crimson
Has faded and the fine leather has creased and mottled
Until it now appears to be a miniature strawberry heifer on a strap)
Though she would note that she was a family of some substance,
Having once attended a fine all-girls school
Where she became engaged
To a professor in the Fine Arts department
(It is unclear whether it was Smith or Bryn Mawr
Or, perhaps, Sarah Lawrence, if anywhere at all,
Her suitors and specters
All but indistinguishable from one another.)
All that, however, is clearly a matter of was;
Her will be is a less fanciful thing,
A measured yet inevitable and precipitous slide
into transactions less palatable
Exchanged for comforts colder than such as she settles for now
(But perhaps not—there is a persistent, palpable pain in her side
Accompanied by a noticeable swelling; Probably benign,
The nurse practitioner had noted at the free clinic,
But she occupied that societal niche
Where further, if unheroic, measures
Were unlikely to be forthcoming.)
In any case, she and her paramour pro tempore
Will call it a night, she pinning her bag to her side
As she instinctively swivels her head to and fro
To ensure no one is seeking to relieve her of her prize possession
(Though its contents are meager—a few dollars in change,
A sweater, a change of underwear,
The whole blessedly insubstantial,
As it is likely she could shoulder any additional load.)

go ask ------ if i care.
ask her if she'll let you
slip inside while you're at it;
tell her that you love her
two weeks in.

you're too rough and
the polaroids you took
left me with black
tiger stripe bruises on
my sarasota gold tinted thighs.

everyone i've talked to,
everyone who knows you,
warned me that you were a creep.
but how could a darling angel
turn out to be such a freak?

you're suffocating like his
smoldering cigarette smoke
and you choke me out with
your big macho paw just
the same way he did last december.

i am not a possession;
i belong to no one and
i surely don't belong to
a tall, lanky creep like you.
do you hear me?

i'm a young teenage girl with
ribbons in my hair and bright
white ruffled socks pressed
into the carpet; have you
forgotten that little fact?

you were all to eager to pummel
my juvenile cherry pie raw,
but you were only ever focused
on your singular, deviant,
carnally charged pleasure.

They'd lived on the flats, humdrum home in a prosaic town.
Those gabled edifices perched on hilltops
Beyond their means, perhaps,
But certainly beyond their needs;
Their children had cribbed at the foot of their bed
To the detriment of sleep and other night-time activities,
And they'd later shared a room, learning early on
That life was often a make-do vocation,
But could be rife with joys in spite of that.
The kids moved on, to mirth and mortgages of their own,
Their parents resolute in their desire to stay put,
Eschewing the siren song of some trailer court in Sarasota,
Some gator-patrolled condo in St. Pete,
Choosing to confront the seemingly never-ending residue
Of stubborn low pressure systems
Lugubriously wandering up the St. Lawrence valley
For weeks upon end,
The humidity and mosquito-laced all too brief summers
(Though, on those nights where no pop-up thunderstorm
Threatened to chase them back inside,
They would sit on the porch, peering at the gravelly old hills,
And he would whistle some tune from some long ago,
Perhaps pulling her out of her chair,
Dancing a slow and somewhat unsteady waltz
While he did his damnedest to stay on key.)

Sarasota Beach.
You’d been to this place
Before, long before



You’d met Earl or his
Sour sister Pearl
Or her friend Mrs



Gillespie for this
Picnic on this stretch
Of sand. When was that



Now? A girl then. And
Not picnicking. Who
Was it with back then?



The Milton boy? Yes.
Him with the dark hair
And big blue eyes. You’d



Walked this beach hand in
Hand thinking it love,
Thinking you’d found the



Core to your being.
Didn’t of course. It
Hadn’t got too far.



You kissed, held hands, spoke
Words, laughed, caressed, but
Nothing more. Least ways



You didn’t want to,
Not then, not with him,
Just like that. You stare



Out at the sea now.
Earl says, what are you
Gazing at? Ain’t you



Seen the sea before?
Pearl sits quiet, deep
In thought. Maybe she



Had an adventure
Of love here, who knows.
Mrs Gillespie



Eats away and speaks
Small talk between large
Mouthfuls. You recall



The Milton boy for
His ardent attempt
At going further,



Trying to venture
Beneath your dress back
Then. Smacked his hand of



Course. He stopped, withdrew
His hand, frustrated
And sulked. Never got



His way though.  He boiled
Up inside, you guess.
Went with that Kelly



Girl not long after,
Maybe she gave way,
You don’t know. Smiled a



Far bit after that,
The Milton boy, her
On his arm, looking



At you with that look
Of his. You look back
At Earl and watch him



Eat, holding a dull
Conversation with
Mrs Gillespie



Between bites. The sea
And wind seem the same,
The gulls, the smell of



Sea and salt and a
Long lost age. Aren’t you
Going to eat? Earl



Says. Plenty here, he
Mutters. Pearl stares at
The sea. Maybe she



Had a lover once,
But lost it all, you
Muse, just like me.

vices, vices
for some it's devices
you ask what the price is
think of time cut into slices
hindsight, life wasted
dragon, you chased it
pepperoni allocated
alabaster brain created
power washing neurons, water
from Lake Huron, sought her a crack pipe
till he fought back on the hard life
now we heard through the grapevine
come round to Becket and you can get
the finest joint rolled by a priest from Sarasota
at the highest point on I-90 east of South Dakota

witnessed a Sarasota sunrise today
at 20:21 PM via live feed, on screen
to tidal songs that sounded like pounding
wavelets folding into the shore while
gulls milled about on a wooden jetty

clouds hovering in a lazy breeze that
didn't care either way for its entrance
peeking past the horizon between gaps
piercing through the distant haze
with an orangey sparkle in its wake