aqua regia

I envy her pride

How I’d like to be a sloth after we work out our lust in bed

I’m a glutton for knowledge about her life and her dreams and her idiosyncracies

My wallet is greedy to spend money on her–its velcro aches

but wrath has no place here

only more tender emotions and actions–

a kiss here, a rub there, a look right through to the soul

how does she know?

I won’t hurt her.

How do I know?

She woke up on the other side of the planet

I greeted her with apologies for any inconvenience but might I just…

share life with you for a while?

Might be nice. I’ll cook too. And do the driving. This right side of the road stuff–I mean.

Like aqua regia, I hope she’ll bring out the best in me.

Too early for all this but I’m always a step ahead of myself

and just like that I melt away in her arms

I transcend the rigamarole and feel…

okay 😉


I stare into the unblinking, amphibious eye

I move things around in the dust before daybreak

I watch the glass cook and the clock drip

I strain to relax

I look like I’m talking to myself, but

San Marzano tomatoes and fresh garlic flavor the faire

The illusion of choice consumes

Forgotten laundry in the dryer

As I lay dying, I retire


testimony and questions

skeptics and bias

rallies and riots

ballots and delegates

lies and deception

demagogues and populists

elitists and insiders

jail and immunity

signs and shouting

chants and marches

police and protestors




IMG_2540send in the clowns with the shoes that are brown

surrounded by the hoodlums and the rats

in the city where people beat on each other with baseball bats

fractured mind in the warm dark womb

above ground graves tied in with leaves to tombs

body language says it all

people shooting up Wal-Marts in malls

and they say they’re not political?

or am I mis-remembering.



Could be Worse

bitten in my sleep

fan hums

losing patience yet no choice but to wait

friends occupied while I try to kill time

a move to a crime scene

sweaty, dirty job

flipping between diversions

heat, more bugs

thank God for the food bank

full stomach, AC, on my laptop

peace and quiet

people who care

time for reflection

sobriety and a clear head

it ain’t all good,

but it definitely could be worse 🙂



My mind is an ashtray

Full of half-baked thoughts

My feelings are delicate like a dry leaf broken off the tree by rain. The trees inspire me, the way they never stop reaching–even if it’s in the wrong direction.

The butterfly flaps its wings. Nothing happens. Six billion butterflies flap their wings. The rain stops–for good.

Now everyone will be delicate too. A slug hides under me, a root under that. The trees make their stand. Water or no, there they are. A desert awaits a salesman who dies of thirst.

Thirst for others. Uncertainty stares up at me from the chasm. I want to jump in–what a thrill, though short-lived.

Upholstery ensconced and yellow and white paint rush by. Many dead trees. The fire got them. They are ugly now, aren’t they?

The wind pushes the door shut. I re-open it time and time again. Will I ask the right questions, see the right angles? Or am I too obtuse?

Other leaves are lighting themselves ablaze. But what are their stories?

Did he hit the train, or did the train hit him? We’ll never know. Could you blame him, I mean would you?

My mind is a dirty ashtray. Ashes are soft, tasteless. They stand for nothing and let the wind carry them. They are lazy. I want to be the cherry. Hypnotizing, captivating. I’ll try hard.