FROM 1986 - April - page 3

Relics

a leaf falls

perpendicular

like lines on a

drafting board,

and the cute one

belong to another

forgotten relic

passed downstream

towards the role

and the expected

behaviors.

Prolonged Feelings

curiously we abandon

our nocturnal habits

like caged animals

muted and deaf;

we ride long boats

to the shore,

tireless in our efforts

to restrict,

to be free again,

to manipulate our

self-fulfilling prophesies,

prolonged feelings

disguised in a tempest

of contradictions

and night maneuvers 

bourn into the 

right circumstances,

the right situation,

analyzing our frequencies

by irregular disruptions.

Carelessly Thinking

in the middle of the street

we stand amidst traffic,

daring the motorcar

without caps

without fancy clothes

and the roaring crowds;

only noises of the road

scamper past our spot,

our private location,

and the charging vehicles

measures our distance,

our predictable foolish behavior,

our carelessly intertwined thoughts,

shall we despair?

glances registered with the

boards of health,

the departments of

social services

finally fall prey to our mental health

or home health as it were...

and our disciples move away as

we persist to play roulette

with the passing motorcars.

A Survival Kit

left in a wilderness of forgotten dreams,

like a preamble of uncertainty,

we train ourselves to witness each other's 

salvation and presupposed courage as

our lives run parallel courses and

our our doorsteps --  under the doormat --  

a key...

the rain falls undisturbed...  

unprovoked...  relentless...

a deluge of thoughts on our lives, 

and the key rusts a little

more with each passing winter;

our lives re-adjust like re-tooled machines

while our warranties replace only parts

like a no frills survival kit...  a box of band aid

like fixes with more questions than answers;

vicariously we live in our wilderness of dreams

with uncertainties lining the entrance

where the creeping ivy used to grow in

our house of usher appearance...

our domain hidden from the neighbors

and in desperation from each other.

Understanding

the problems live on

continue and we escape 

into mutual liabilities,

strengthened by our losses

regrouped around habits

of routine and a simple

natural course of action;

not delayed out of emotions

but rearranged in a not

cooperative understanding.

Caring Survived

in the hours of the morning light,

I awake...  exchanging my thoughts

with my delayed imaginations;

your memories drift down

make believe currents on the

rivers of my consciousness;

I hold your day dreams close as

they become blurred visions of sins

and wonder if our caring 

moored to a sinking pier, can survive

FROM 1986 - April - page 2

Lines

lines of written

words hang just

just on the tongue's tip,

refusing to be formed

and the printer's ink

will stay dry another day.

Tied Together

routinely developed from the ordinary

the usual order of things,

we traverse the border of our bonds,

mistrust places us wandering for the

courage to believe not to give up,

tied inextricably together forever

lengthening the process,

predetermining our lives,

following like a tearproof glue.

Betrayed Sorrows

back into the past, 

searching...

for lost innocence,

back into the years

when the lines

on her face were

only imagined,

through a gentle

exterior...

her desires burned

and she betrayed

the cries of sorrow

held behind a 

rationale...

tears hemorrhaged

inside her body

and for years

she held them back,

in the sweat of love

they tossed and turned

like ideal playmates.

At the Crossroads

at the corner of Church and Overbrook,

lives drift through common circles,

each preparing their legacy

each exchanging brief moments with each other;

at the crossroads, travelers meet

sharing a time filled with old stories,

mellowed by their retelling

illuminate by the shadows of hidden lives.

Without Regrets

grouped along in a line

inside out on either side,

behind the curtain calls,

a few, their talents returned

displayed in volumes

without regrets

poised and fluid...

responded and like butterflies

danced gentle...

danced serene..

fluttering on the wind,

riding casual currents,

balanced on irregular harmonies

from the ordinary,

simple and direct;

the years take their toll

youth is loaned out to others

whose normal lives will survive

the interruptions...

the disappointments...

Daily Choices

sheltered fragments hold

isolated pieces of

instant loneliness like

so many quick services,

moments turned upside down,

our lives in between evenings

separate and closing around

unnatural betrayals...

Day choices preclude realignment

and our last chance shop

is closed for the weekend

towards each other we turn

becoming embittered gladiators

that never seem to lose.

FROM 1986 - April - page 1

Walls

once inside we hide behind

the cross currents of sleep,

and the mind's dreams shift

into quiet disclosures...

around the circle,

lines are drawn,

our imaginations,

carved from our thoughts 

by felt tip markers,

drifts and sifts through

our daily rubble,

recomposing...

like acts of a play;

we build walls of confusion

to prevent the intrusion

of reality and the reshaped

tomorrows it creates...

silent rings of the bell

harmonize in our consciousness,

pairs move through the evening

as I remain alone and

rejection lays in my pocket

like all my unspent change.

Circles and Colors

inside the window glass

prism walls an eyepiece,

stalks the hunter overcome by choice,

outside observed from our illusion,

an interpretation carefully

and forever forming

constantly shrinking circles;

our choices bent like refracted light,

colors of the rainbow seen,

sometimes clearly or not,

fooled by our patience...  or not,

by our own choice to be,

we become seeking shelter

from inside the window glass.

Love Lost

like the gas in a helium balloon

our anger releases slowly,

allows us to perpetuate,

to continue our secure routine;

our lives follow an up and down path,

our highs...  gradually at first...  but,

now securely overcome by our lows;

depression seeks us out with every

point of difficulty a struggle,

you against me...

my point against yours...

who goes first?

who gives in?

only the bed chamber shares our needs

a dependence of one,

independence for the other,

our love lost,

our friendship buried in disagreement ,

we continue to remain out of

mutual disgust and contempt,

like our parents...

bonds once sealed remain forever.

Opposite Sides

written down in the mind's library of memories,

recorded for postponed use when violence is

transcribed into a bath of verbal, angry comments,

we search the racks for for truths in some

half bait illusive fashion

more for our own wandering sanity than

for resolution as if de-involvement was

the only label we needed to read;

on opposing sides of the line we stand entrenched,

words flow from the same volume,

each new editing receives a copyright,

and the fees are recorded in our ledgers;

voluntarily, our involuntary responses become habit

forming patterns and reflexes each with it own

set of rules...  avoiding what we appear to want.

Tomorrow's Plans

like a snowball moving downhill,

our lives accelerate each new wrinkle,

grey hair and aching muscle,

each new pound...  loss of memory,

and out-of-breath movement we take;

we plan tomorrow for changes

for resolutions and to make better failures, yet

all our tomorrows become today's promises.

An Afternoon Sun

a casual trail

winds its lingering

path down under

the bridge,

under the sunlight

off the hill,

past the tree broker

and the parlor where

an afternoon sun warms,

and our thoughts

forever remain imprisoned

behind our eyes,

inside our minds down deep,

hidden away in a dark pit

like childhood dreams formed

our personalities.

FROM 1986 - May - page 5

Standing In Between

one stood in between circumstantial values

and leaning towards unrespected virtues,

a voice calls us by name and we listen

amazed by the strength of their convictions,

we look for possibilities but our modest

attempt remains unnoticed, yet we

hopefully retain the spirit of a solemn

grey sky before an inevitable rain,

we learn by forgetting to remember the

important and the unusual is imprinted

like gossip on those who had betrayed us,

we are divided by limited participation,

one stood in between waiting for the

comet's return and simply leaving.

Plans

our plans floated like ice cubes

in everything we drank,

our dreams became safety nets

for what we perceived as truth,

our security, hidden by physical dependence

overcame the turmoil within our grasp,

the dream peddler pronounced our vows

for better or worse and we agreed.

Held Together

we reside within the uncomfortable

security of mistrust...  happiness is

pretended feelings we packed away

years ago once we outgrew our clothes,

our personalities, tanned by the sunshine

of our earlier years are now bleached out,

dried and cracked...  held together in a

loosely woven thin thread of commitments;

we tolerate the sheltered refuge while

finishing much needed landscaping,

we touch but don't feel...

we look but don't see...

we listen but don't hear...

we kiss without sensuality...

we love without passion...

we hate without regrets...

we hurt without remorse...

in our penalties we discovered a new

suffering...  prolonged and agonizing...

like peeling away the flesh...

only an inch at a time.

Our Future

a clock

on the wall,

ticks away

the time and we

allow it to pass

unmolested...

uncontested...

and we rapporte

to define

comments spoken

or written

take away our

future,

ending up with

confusion...

rainy day

illusions...

a complete

but harmless

solution.

Tear Soaked

sooner or later out

footsteps trace the

path so many have

walked before,

transparent ambiguities

soaked by tears,

cling to our revival

like a post hypnotic

suggestion...

torn nerves heal like

old muscles and the

in-patient's virtues

tested and rested

and finally relaxed.

Continuing Along

wrapped inside around and

in between the madness

somewhere there's a loss,

the stranger at the wedding

followed years after...

the fire starter without assistance

burned out all our desire...

we never listened to Bach

or to the years not scored,

continuing along like we always do

following the line of least resistance.

FROM 1986 - May - page 4

Dark Heavens

out from the darkness

comes light and

space is created around

which life evolves

and re-evolves,

from which harmony

and continuity survives

in line, form, and shape,

into which nature's

example is reflected,

connecting to the heavens

by simplicity and balance

of theme and discipline,

opposition grows from

compulsive similarities

of irregular movement

perpetrating its own

existence and its own

reality...   uniformity

outgrew all of its

replicated parts.

Historical

in multiples of five they pass

four times this year,

in multiples of four we have lived

four times together.

a patient yardstick to measure

our persistence of the latter

and our your with the former,

historical landmarks, a

numerical ageless ordering of

our lives and the sculpted landscape

whose seasonal changes arrive

in regular rhythms unsyncopated

beats that we count over and over

like the rise and falling moons.

On Being Observed

her legs... long and slender

straddle an adventure,

her eyes...  alive and bright

watch his movements from

a corner vantage point,

her mouth smiles against his

frown and off in a third direction

they both look in amazement,

the encounter approaches its end

with her leaving one way

and he leaving another and their

casual observer wonders why.

Our Secret

few noticed their isolation inside

weeping for us before we could be

participants bold and alive,

across the barrier of regrets, we

tumble slowly...  carefully...

exploring the options of what we

knew would be and the consequences

of our unanimous selection,

our addiction followed us from one

day to the next until the outcome

for us was decided in a pastel array

of passion as if one chapter in our

lives have obviously been omitted,

we were protective of our secret,

guarding it well until the balance

of our feelings fell and their sensations

became inevitable and unescapable,

devouring our bodies without

guilt or loss...  without remorse...

we became the symptom of our love

with the cure only in our departure.

Shadows Cast

we separate every weekend,

a hundred times by now,

a divorce never completed,

physical and mental...

sexually reversed...   a

syndrome of rehearsed shadows

cast across our faces divide

our split personalities into

quarters just as easily spent,

contemplation serves the 

short term after all else fails.

FROM 1986 - May - page 3

The Logic of the Day

at the bottom

of a pit

with all hope

diminished into

a lonely evening

with lonely words,

and expectations

with one who once

inside causes the

isolation to stick

like freezer burn,

at the end we

torment because there

is no other way

no other conclusion

no other purpose to justify;

we are our own misery,

we burn inside out

the hearts which we

gave at Valentine's

and became selfish

with out hatred

our bitterness consumed

our energy until like

The Hunger Artist

we starved ourselves;

our emotions torn and

beaten became worthless,

we looked at each other's

contempt and spit

at the warning,

its message went unheeded

undelivered...

our lies burned our eyes shut,

our flesh crawled in the

decay of summer garments,

we died long ago from our

polluted attitude and used

needs to destroy feelings;

our control of hate controlled us,

our pawn-like behavior

went unnoticed,

undetected...  until

there was nothing left to hate

but our complacency;

everything was wrong and

we perpetuated that indifference,

we thrived from the energy

release of each other's anger,

our anger became the only

thing left to feel...   and we

needed it like two lovers

needed each other's love...

it became the only thing

between us --  our only connection,

holding us together;

our love was displayed

through mutual hatred

where love and hate

(opposite sides of a coin)

ended up becoming the

same sides of opposite coins;

bitterness caused our

attraction to others,

anything that would avoid,

we achieved complete harmony

of isolation without anything

or anyone --  void of feelings,

detached from reality watching

other enjoy what we could not,

resenting their freedom

and ability to be happy;

the essence of life oozed out

from our scars until hollowness

filled by the fumes of our fires,

became lifeless...

forms wandering through the

subconscious world of fantasy,

a prolonged satanic madness

invading the soft spaces 

of our mind like rot in an

over-ripe piece of fruit;

we journeyed backwards

seeing...  --   tasting...

feeling what we were before

mindless creature operating

on deprived instincts,

behaviors wild and untamed,

taking evolution out of its

predetermined will and back

into involuntary responses,

and the evil suffocated evil

until existence (as we know it)

was no more...  and we

transcended life and became

the end of the beginning like

the conclusion of a meal

without family or friends,

and like the circle once completed

has no origin --  it's just there,

there to be observed

there to be admired

in its continuance until it

become the teacher...

and, in its simplicity conveys

unity of rational thought and the

logic of the day overwhelms.

FROM 1986 - May - page 2

Aberrations

faces in the night

peer out from behind

abandoned lights...

one's daydreams walk

safely down sidewalks...

eerie sounds hear their

approach from behind...

our lives become transposed

illusions of forgetfulness

of imagined realities...

night bended light

shadows of the day

a haze of colors

muted with greys

still and soft overtones

complicates our confusion

and the day begins

once again without you...

An Excursion

past fields, farms, and homes

through valleys and hills

alongside graveyards of

old forgotten men,

into cities and out again

past hotels and motels

from our future he rides

past our past and beyond

is the man on the red bicycle

wearing a shiny red top hat.

Recurrences

early this morning, our 

lives woke in despair,

a faint remembrance

encouraged lightly,

your dressing gown,

loosely hung like an 

unwrapped present from

your white shoulders,

tensions held us tightly

as once we were oh so

happy and so resolved.

An Excerpt

a gentle breeze blows

through the trees,

an afternoon sunset hovers,

only momentarily

on our horizon...

two people seek out

each other's obligations

and responsibilities

while all else ceases.

Fleeting

before the evening's

eyelids close for the day,

we sit with coffee and

conversation erases

all of our doubts,

we dance homewards

birds fly south

and the ornamental

music box you carry

unsuspectingly...

plays the news.

FROM 1986 - May - page 1

Partners

within the autumn colors

fenceposts and bushes

around us emerge,

like formidable partners,

the rain effects each,

one positively

one negatively

together --  year after year

one growing

one aging

one with shades of green

one with splinters

but only one has roses.

Technology

our paths differ in their

construction, yet

the system defaults

a coded re-entry

displayed in dramatic

characters to

sort and resort and

file in a safe place;

we are recipients of a

programmed life

edited and deleted,

statements of user

significance rattle our

cages and we no longer

fold, staple, or mutilate

to disrupt...

we are a programmed

language of machine tongues

painted on a screen in

short strokes listed

in horizontal bars;

we work from within the

straight jacket of uniformity,

reporting to an analyst

who interprets, manipulates,

and overrides the system,

our paths differ in their

construction yet someone

always pulls the plug.

The Puzzle

we surrender moments

at a glance,

brightness fades...

surreptitiously,

and the back walks

of a gentle consciousness

explode...

out of reach, a goal 

maintains its distance,

its longing to be captured

its survival left in pieces

its talents are fitted together

like a jigsaw puzzle.

Distance

in the distance

she sits

her past hidden

in deliberate isolation,

her day begins and ends

by her own design, 

buried in the distance

of her lost past,

she sits unencumbered

her persistence wills

her frail survival,

a growth without

interference,

without intervention.

Once Upon A Time

just a handful of thoughts

jumbled and disorganized,

in single file remain in

my morning memories,

vividly detailed, I

remember you...

soft, smooth, and gentle,

laying in the open clearing

of my thoughts where

imagination and reality

collide curiously together,

wandering perceptions

of truth and what it may

or may not be...  all in a

surreal reflective solitude.

FROM 1986 - June - page 2

Slender Grace

fourteen years tall she stands

gifted and talented

exceptional,

in front of me she grows

and...  I missed it;

which part grew first?

I away from her or

she away from me?

a parent label I wear

in my lapel,

but really should I?

all the things we

should have done together

and...  I missed it.

passed on and learned

acquired,

a complete heritage;

photographs

I should have taken

of accomplishments,

failures,

well...  maybe not.

When did we laugh or cry

or even talk?

They

temperature adjusts our dispositions

and aggressive females who resent

male supervision, misunderstand

their rolls when braless and open-minded

they long for their own control,

their own jurisdictions;

contrite, they foster discontent,

disillusionment and discord seen as

multi-colored versions of their own shifts

in emotional moods, temperaments

brought about by years of frustration.

Waiting

waiting patiently

for a call or a word,

behind distance

a natural barrier,

feelings today are written

hours constrain loyalty,

circles constrict

into smaller variations

of our shallow past.

Between Us

between us we embrace a fantasy,

if I were to...   would you?

if you were to...   would I?

your glow stuffed inside a wooden box,

if it could only last as long as a summer tan,

between us we embrace precious feelings,

between us we feel the pain.

Written Down Today

I

we have written out our future in 

poetic lines of discarded sentiments,

we sit in closet chairs of blameless guilt

woven inside the mind's spirit of selfishness,

rude and vulnerable our persistence grows;

II

all the words have ended up at the bottom,

never used again,

never rearranged and I live

without a dictionary --  without vocabulary,

only words I knew as a child come to mind;

III

we are walking

talking

feeling dead,

like a Voodoo spell

absorbed by the dullness

in each other's eyes,

a lackluster spirit

contained

restrained

and semi-permanent;

IV

a final version of our lives is written as 

we talk at each other in critical overtones,

carefully reckless with our feelings,

allocations of love emerge like the cold

sweat of sickness on a warm summer day;

V

we continue to administer

small doses of pride,

our will is strengthened

layered with false illusions

as youth dissipates in the darkness,

we age, not so easily sometimes,

fretting about what is beyond our reach,

we sleep in separate beds of

our own limited expectations;

VI

pot-bellied old men

white haired and tired,

women whose age is tucked

inside smaller sizes share

another day --  another cup of tea

and all of yesterday's propositions;

VII

our flight towards a beacon of indifference

spreads like a grass fire, peculiar in its

shape and size and appearance...

we end as we begin...  without dignity.

Cycle of Thoughts

the old man --  his white hair neatly combed

for his age walks sideways now,

limps from his war wounds and the stories

he has never forgotten to tell,

four twenties and fifteen years ago,

his crime gave birth to a new decade and

in less than ten, the nation - his nation's youth

found in their selves the spirit of a new country;

his eyes, sunk deeply in his boney face

hold back the tears of our injustices,

of slavery...

of wars...

of depressions...

of oppression...  and,

of the technology

that robbed us all of our human dignity;

the old man's words run on and are slurred

coming from the bottom of his throat

as if there are reluctantly spoken,

preferring not to be heard;

the old man sits in unapproachable isolation,

his peers in their senior groups find comfort,

behind his corner table he sits and

under his wrinkled skin of his arms

rests the document...

his life in words --  as best as he can remember,

and each day he writes something new,

a painstaking --  penetrating

look into the unlocking of his past,

one day at a time, he writes

scribbling and erasing,

making sure of accuracy...

each day he writes a little slower than the day before

as his past catches up to him and his present

and each day a new day is always added

never completing the

full cycle of his thoughts.

FROM 1986 - June - page 1

Phantoms

our day begins

in soft explosions

of words

and glances,

of expressions

and controlled processes;

in front of some

behind others,

we search in

mental corridors

for verbal phantoms

of self-reliance

self-esteem

and self-proclaimed

feasts upon our souls;

we live with the

perils of our own

opportunities and

the excitement of

our disappointments.

She

what does she do to you?

she seems naturally confident

a mystery with complexities

she offers...

the worlds she conquers

are not hers to give, yet,

she conveys a casual disposition;

her pretense lingers

in your sight,

she delays her systemized

feelings on her punctual nature

as it overlaps with an

indecisive spirit;

she knows her image is

reflected in the imagination

of others and her beauty

can never be touched;

sorrow rolls down her cheeks

at night when she sleeps

with her own lonely feelings.

Lost and Found

for the future we live

from the present we give

and from the past we

take to a lost and found;

the evening's complain

most when away...  a

chill in the air on a day

like any other returns

to the edge of an abyss

and of sightless sound.

Transformations

I

we turn ourselves inward

as the pressures force us

against all the odds...

the outcome is inevitable

a conclusion in sync

with time and space...

II

and the systematic rhythms funnel change,

interpreting transformation with random selection,

a controlled process  --  a course on curved routines

with litmus tests, bending in different directions

across a straw covered wild west frontier;\

III

and a narrow border inside

our imagination between

what's right and what's wrong,

littered with yesterday's

discoveries crisscrossing 

through mind channels...

an endless journey of motion

seldom seen overlapping with

its previous course until the

beginning creates new 

and better transformations.

Pride

her pride falls inside the

pages of an unfinished novel,

read more than her shared feelings,

blaming herself but continuing

becoming more consumed with

written fantasy than with herself.

Mistrust

on the dotted line

she signed,

our lives together

giving up

each other's security;

adjustments

re-adjustments

a syndrome of delayed stress,

intimate details,

disclosures of trust,

mistrust,

and broken trust;

grey hairs flourish

in troubled times,

disappointments counted

by the years of our child,

an end of friendship,

romance and love;

restrictions bond careless infidelities

ritualistic with remorse

free from altercations

perfect and simple.

FROM 1986 - July - page 1

The Moth

up and down

they flap,

creating

tiny pockets of

wind waves

on either side of

a tiny body,

off the window

ledge it falls

defeated by an

unchallenged

attempt.

Life Together

we live in separate worlds

set firmly against the center

points of our peculiarities,

we routinely argue and

offer isolated looks at

each other's temperaments,

patience rules our courage.

Discourse

she smiles and her eyes float

a message in my direction,

moist lips...  tantalizing

in their appearance,

slight parted

sensuously inviting

pull at me,

mentally disrobing my

imagination next to her lying.

Reunion

and the rain falls

quietly...

gently...

a mysterious reunion,

the ground swims

in its memory

opening its appetite.

Pretense

our tired eyes

like a clown's

are painted on,

kept in a box

on the shelf,

a magical pretense

in its implications,

a neutral,

safe side 

of awareness.

FROM 1986 - August - page 2

Without Purpose

trapped within an image

a secret fountain of knowledge

she seeks her own level,

a painted dreamscape

her compassion swells inside her morning

she searches aimlessly

a lost innocence returns momentarily

standing absorbed in her routine

the day begins its complexion

a communion felt without purpose.

Natural Instincts

we hold onto our fragile existence

with excuses and postponements,

we are delivered like the mail,

our parts form completeness and

between visits twice searching for

an open field like birds of prey,

scalded by our own heat

that deep down inside us burns,

an intuitive approach 

goes full spectrum with lots

of natural instincts blended

in and among truth and warmth,

southern winds and backwards glances

yield to nature's apparent disbelief,

an uncontrolled response is offered.

Onlookers

beside the full length image of our

passions we stand as onlookers,

carefully protecting our exposure

and the first move to be taken,

small talk assigns our curiosities

awareness prevails on our sense of belonging,

we reach out for mutual aspects of

our hesitant attraction while guarding the

sanctity of the horizon from which we arrived.

Arranged Interpretations

I

we are arranged uniquely

willingly separated by categories,

dress, speech, likes and dislikes...

our moral obligation 

confused and reused by our friends.

II

we are interpretations of another's beliefs

guided by our moral acclaim of dignity,

we are not right, wrong, or indifferent,

we are free from speech and words that

tend to always mean more than they say.

Rain Whispers

rain begins and ends our conversation

gentle again the windows it drips down

streaking through the beads that reappear,

on the glass quietly it drops like whispers

and we sit inside, dry, and mesmerized

by its persistence unaware of the unaware

that the rain has violated our solitude.

FROM 1986 - August - page 1

Memories

I

he looks at the parched soil intently

crumbling, falling through his fingers

like grains of sand in an hour glass,

around his lean countenance a sea of

corn stands three foot tall and the

year was barely nineteen eighty-six.

II

Photographs on the wall bleached and faded

bent by the years and tinted, recall soda

fountains, malts, outgrown clothes, and

buildings too worn out for their repairs,

streams and creeks whose waters once flowed

through wooded areas now harvested to

build our dream homes of brick and stone.

III

behind the framed glass, watercolors calmly

recapture our youth and economies of scale

provided cheap loans with scarce monies,

wall street bankers found new ways to keep

their fingers discreetly in everyone's pockets.

IV

and as our years cease to be marked

off by discernable ends and beginnings,

they flow from one season to the next

like herded sheep bound together by

mutual and unforgivable incriminations.

V

when did we grow so old 

that the misfortunes  of others 

seemed so horrible to hear?

Cherokee

we was just coming out of Cherokee

all the bottles was thrown in the back

of the truck when all of a sudden like,

I heard this whoopin' 'n' ahollerin'

and I just knew we was in fur trouble;

the bottles they begin commencin'

to breaking and all that precious liquid

just flowed right out the back...  and I 

seen my face in the rearview and some

kind of gawd awful expression I looked.

Outside

out the window

and through the glass

a world of strangers I see;

new generations

changed with their

influence and opinions;

souls who belong to each other

and those who do not

seem to belong to anyone at all;

shared qualities whose

differences radiate enchantments

for those who participate.

Attraction

in an alluring light quietly she sits

a balance soft and sensitive

in harmony with only herself,

spun silk falls around her shoulders

like a habit of darkness,

she hears with her eyes 

her heart feels her pulse and

the warmth of the wind sweeps

oh so casually about her face.

Imaginations

down through an emotional valley of

insecurity like flailing with a topsail torn, 

we drift unattached in our casually held 

ship of beliefs adorned with faint relics

of our turbulent past casting sunless

shadows resting under an imaginary bridge,

where water flows in a persistent trickle,

a calming motion of tranquility

a forgetful cleansing surrogate.