I see you in the morning air,
fresh approach and black long hair,
have we met, I ask myself?
I don't think so but would we
dare chance such a meeting,
such a conspicuous encounter,
without being introduced?
I wonder how I will feel when
when you finally speak to me?
How can I encourage that
which is not understood?
always to enter...
to be rescued and delivered,
I see you in morning
and wish I had not.
Sheer Madness
from one to the other we
flow like lava down
the mountainside...
a respite...
each one different...
offering sheer madness,
a chance at new formations,
changes in attitude and
self-governing latitudes,
creeping towards an answer.
Our Barriers
can we expect to understand a
beginning to all things or
something that never ends,
no beginning -- no end
like a circle; but what,
lies outside the barrier?
our soul or spirit
like the wind is
understood and is never seen,
yet the universe as
tangible as we make it has
no end... no beginning...
our alarm for concern is
rather relative I suppose.
behind the counter her presence attracts,
she listens while her foot rests casually on the shelf,
pulling tight her jeans around her thighs,
bent over with elbows on the counter's surface,
are arms folded in front...
intently gazing... intently smiling;
she looks around at those whose lives
interrupted her morning routine,
a habit to which she looks forward,
under the shinning coal black hair
she holds a small town library
volumes of short stories of gossip,
life's hardships and who's banging who;
her blouse parts, exposing her breasts,
a creamy soft whiteness that only strangers notice;
like a Rockwell painting her composure lasts
forever and her memories are locked away
in a mental book that will remain unpublished.
A Country Store
small town politics over coffee
over smokes and laughing secrecy,
off the record comments rule
an uninterested public with flavors
of the day... week... month... or year,
crops crippled by the cold and heat
bring out the pot-bellied stove conversations
and city fathers dressed in fancy clothes
carry full pocketbooks into the parlor,
sitting in the corners and with a wave
of the hand symbolize their similarities.
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