White

white

The white clouds sailed by,
Fast ghosts racing
On the dark blue ocean,
While we lay still below,

The willows bent low,
Uninterested in our coupling,
Whispering instead of fireflies,
I sang a verse of After Midnight.

You reached down and had me,
White teeth glowing in smile,
As the clouds that flew,
As the moon that smiled too,

Gleaming, the night air
Intoxicant. What do you want?
But you were already inside
Me, or I in you.

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Convenience store

barrel

I was certain that what passed
For courage, was but a sudden lapse
Of judgement, the steel cylinder
Had clicked with that dreadful

Metalic CLICK of the instant
Death comes round and quietly
Steals the soul.
He moved though, with speed,

Cat-like speed, the swift
Motion mostly a blur,
Downward, then sharply upward
So that the chrome barrel

Barely kept up, loud pow, pow
The smoke belching, no it was
Talcum struck behind him, baby
Powder, oddly faint, showered

Checked floor; he had rolled,
Now on the boy fully, He, wide-eyed,
Clutching his throat as though
To vomit, no more pows, or clicks

Crimson, sudden and violent, grasping
With useless dark hand,
And my cat would not seize,
A field mouse more deftly.

A loud clank when the heavy barrel,
Too big for the slender boy, I saw
Now, hit the floor, no more air
No more sound, but a gurgle,

I was sure this dream would end,
But the boy thrashing would not
Allow, now awful thrashing, death
Came loudly, and we stood there

With milk and whiskey and diapers,
Wondering what could cause a boy
To ask death for an early night,
Again he kicked, but the wound

Sucked in air for only one more
Moment and the silence lay down,
And the young woman fell faint,
With a thud; old woman just nodded.

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Red Knife

Chicken

Nothing is sacred anymore,
Even less is blasphemous.
Sin as construct,
Calls the pious to act,

I killed my neighbor’s
Chickens.
The blood scarlet red.
Would you judge my sin?

Here, take the knife,
Everything is blasphemous,
As she cried stupid tears,
I felt Lenin smile.

Later we ate, my payment,
Rendered for service,
Everything is sacred it seems,
Eggs swapped for food.

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Lost

Love lost, such a cost….

Love lost, such a dream,
Gotta think of other things

Otters at play, whiskers smile,
Fruit trees in blossom all the while,

Hummingbirds fierce, buzz the field,
What did my fierce love yield.

Blackberries among the thorns,
Beg for harvest, no one mourns,

Funny how I thought love was fair,
Only butterflies on the air,

Spent and spun, swim the breeze,
Come back to me, come back, pleasethorns

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Trades

trades

Love lights the room,
Blooms as the Cannas,
Slow-waving, thick scent.

It goes dark,
She bites her custard,
And the chocolate widens.

It goes dark,
Laughter on her toes,
Bubbles billow and sway.

We wait for the trades,
Those warm winds to rise,
Against your orange smile,

We make love one last time,
Wishing I would explode,
Ringing in the ears.

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Tomato Us

tomato.2

I am tomato,
Sunburned cheeks smile fatly,
Curves smooth with summer gloss,
Vessel of velvet juice,
Within a ruddy flood of skin,
And round and round within,
And tethered by thick stem,
Until your hand caressed,
My newly ripened breast,
And plucked me from beneath,
A dappled emerald leaf,
And when to nose you held,
The scent of love you smelled,
Then thoughts of other things,
My blushing skin did bring,
For you are me and I am you,tomato
Tomato bright and human, too.

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Pizza night

Made pizza tonight.
Used my mom’s old black, cast iron
Skillet.

Got it real hot, like five hundred
Degrees.
But the beer I drank cold.

Hot and cold,
Kind of like my mom at times.
She never made pizza.

She made meat and three,
Or four. Nightly. For,
Seven mouths.

Cornbread in this same black
Skillet.
Hot, like five hundred degrees.

My pizza was damn good.
White sauce, spinach, leftover
Meatloaf.

I think it was the skillet.
Could have been the beer.
Kinda hard to tell.

I love this old, black, cast
Iron.
I loved my mother.

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