The years are clicking in the rocks
in my shoes
your voice
your voice is a limb
scaping the window
while the wind blows the
snow across
my eyes. I do not see.
There is
the points in my feet
and the sound while
the minus
is everything else.

Ashamed

I'm not all of America

not even a good representation

of normal. Just one person

maybe a little strange, and

certainly not that important,

but i still feel responsible

for what we do.

If
is a pretty big word
close calls near misses
new momma nearly bleeds to death
on your watch
boy falls 3 stories from rooftop
lands on broken feet
broken axle, switchback roads
back then forth
toddler wanders off in a foreign land
crowded marketplace
if
you were
if
you could
if
you knew better
if
is a very big word

image

looking
outside through a(rain
soaked)
window on the

4th
floor

grey sky
grey rain

down below
someone walks
under

an orange
& white

umbrella breaking
the grey tableau

Cruising

Do you ever feel like a solid old car

with rust damage along the bottom;

with corrosion caused by salt;

caused by solutions?

There really is no hurry.

It feels like it, yes,

But feelings are often wrong,

And trust is easily misplaced

In warm colors and 

confident hands.

Hello (echo)

I really miss reading your posts.  

Undisturbed

- Pot pies heat longer at altitude, 

same bright chicken though, same warm gravy.

- Amped up on home made coffee, 

feeling dark roasted,  feeling quite shiny.

- Lunching early today with easy thoughts,  

the work goes down smooth, undisturbed.

- Coffee steaming next to laptop, 

daily news rattles like city traffic .

- Tired eyes and aching body hold

a mind, not on fire, but smoldering.

- Kindling carefully applied and a soft 

exhale, seeking to breathe flame back in.

In My World

he had green eyes
like a cat with white fur
sunny
i followed him across a field
meadow grass, wildflowers
linen shirt, arms- castle wall strong
he saw me watching
as he
moved the ground
beneath me
and opened his mouth to speak
yellow butterflies
fell from his lips
and then they flew away

Inspired by DWC's Poem

I too am a cliche:
programmer by profession
intellectual by habit
anti-social by nature,
contrasted with a desire
to be accepted.

I am also not a cliche,
but to an unkind eye
with little patience
to gather understanding
I would certainly appear
well defined.

untitled: a study

i
realized today

that i am
the cliche

a librarian:

single
two cats
who has a

penchant for
cardigan

sweaters
(today's

blue) the brown
one

unceremoniously

balled up
& cast

on the
floor

of

my car

everything is aging
wearing down
and patiently
breaking

Now What?

Its temporary;
silent space since you have gone
empty room,clock sound

I'm lying again-
it's beautiful, beautiful
the tropics on fire.

the winds recover
between the alleys and blow
all hell in the streets.

haiku

wind blows hard tonight

sounds like a train goes by here 

door hinges rattle

the greens grow over:
I walked with you in that field.
The evidence fades.

The world is ending,
well, only mine. You go to
Kansas. Don't come back.

It's not so funny -
awake still with your dreams gone
away with someone.

crawl under the fence:
this field is where my dad found
corn roots in a skull.

silly old teeth bounce
around her mouth chewing grapes
before they're champagne

Winters Muse