Slipping out of the day 
the silk of laughter 
the corduroy of quarrels 
the poly-cotton of work and play 
and letting them drop to the floor 

Stepping under the water fall 
with soaps and exfoliants 
sloughing off our colorful masks 
the fumes of other’s habits 
the dirt of our mistakes 
and stepping out fresh 

A little cream to tone 
a little scent to lift 
a little bit of rebirth 
a little moment of paradise 

January 21, 2019


But it won’t slow down 
one hand chaser 
round and round 
just one more dramedy 
to bleed out my pen 

And I find the point 
to draw the line 
moves back and over 
risk the past misery 
or risk that it won’t 
be the same old repeats 

Now every week 
I’ve got a pound of flesh 
due in a pack of words 
that I work off 
while old pre-codes 
reel through eternity 
on my idiot’s lantern 

So it spins 
around and down 

January 14, 2019


I could feel it flowing 
trapped in the current 
of my marrow 
as the plodding tornado 
of meeting words 
spun on and on and on 

This morning 
I checked myself out 
in the reflection of 
a broken-down hearse 
and the best I could do 
was to not buy fear 
for breakfast 

Now it’s got to be 
midnight somewhere 
so someone open the champagne 
and since we all carry our prisons within us 
let’s fill ‘em with bubbly 
and drown 
our darker than interpretation 

January 7, 2019