Little Devils
We children toyed with death
Inchworms the innocent victims
Smoosh them, see their guts
Watch them writhe on a hot car hood
Worse yet, drop on an anthill
As the frantic army bites,
Drags them down for dinner
Later my teen brother
Pursued bigger crimes
A lit match in a neighbor’s dry field
Panic stamped as the wind kicked up
The garden hose Tarzan swing
The obnoxious kid next door swung
Every afternoon from a rock precipice
Brother jackknife sliced near its top
So it would snap at full extension
Then me and my friends
Dine and dashed The Goody Shoppe
Escaping in my mother’s car
Clipping a parked sedan
For years she asked
How the passenger side dented
I lied saying it happened
While parked at Caldor
Feigning innocence
Finally confessed
Two years before her death
She smiled
Called me a little devil
Aren’t we all?
The bankers, the cops, the soldiers, the thieves
Outgrew such things
To become responsible, thoughtful, or sneaky
Knowing deep down
At one time or another
We couldn’t help but to watch
A worm squirm
Shadows in the Mist
What did it mean
To hold your hand?
Our endless conversation
Word whirlpool drained
When the plug was pulled
We were caught winter rain
Our fire dried our boots
We were a comforting
Sick day for each other
Wearied from school
And our twisted nights
In gale force winds
We became sheets pinned
On a frayed line
You are no longer 3-D
I forget your touch
More a Polaroid photo
Browning dark in time
Was it real?
Did we see angels?
Were we sainted
Or low phantoms wisping
In inclement weather
Diluted to shadows
In the mist of infatuation?
Last Night Today
Upon the precipice of sunrise
I clung to lingering sleep
Hanging off the edge of bed
Shoulder to shoulder
A bald couple in ceremonial dress
Rapidly round a corner
Overnight I formed a band
Or a team, or something
Ballplayers, musicians, acrobats
That scattered like windblown trash
Down a colorless avenue
A golden watch I didn’t own
Unraveled strings of time
Confetti days, minutes, and hours
Formed a ticker tape parade
Marching to oblivion
After strong coffee
The veil between eyes open and closed
Became a thick, tangible curtain
The morning news, same as always
Comforting chaos
Stepping outside
The yard was wet
The weathered birdbath
With the dogs’ blanched soup bones
Bathed in a dirty pool of tree runoff
Their marrow consumed
Dog saliva stained
Ant pincered picked clean
A cold stew of sunken vessels
Voyage to an unknowing realm
Ghost Wind
Late winter death rattle
Driven by lost flight
Of skeletal wings
Peep show lightning flash
In the conquering night
Born of doubt and ignorance
Locking doors without reason
Seeps like water
To the lowest depth
In the remote creases
Of the mind
You were never meant to be
Screaming discontent like a kettle whistle
In your pack of coyotes
Under a full moon
A shiver under fevered sheets
All promise sweat out
Souls become oiled rags
Inhaling the flared match
Your flurried oxygen
Cuts through night
Combusts dark fear
Whips through the ages
Ancient, uncaring
Lifting Pterodactyls
Giving credence
To the dragon’s breath
Despite
Increasing clouds driving north
The indefinite trail we failed to hike
Accumulative rain that muddied our tracks
Knee replacements, and arthritic hands
Vision that requires eyewear,
This trip was perfect
Sedona red rocks
Were dark and rich with rain
Clouds hugged Jerome
And distant towering peaks
Married Heaven with Earth
And Merkin Vineyards
The wine was pricey
But the flight delicious
The food not filling but satisfying
And years wasted on foolishness
Was cleansed and satiated
Red clay hardened
Between boot tread
Grandiose plans washed away
Like mountain run off
Your laughter I missed, remained
Pattered like rain on the windshield
Rolled like thunder in the valley
Despite
Graying and hair loss
Years gone by road map wrinkles
A taste of wisdom here and there
It seems like yesterday
When our tire tread was deep
When the road stretched
Beyond our imagined horizon
Despite
The miles to empty warning
It still seems
Like our tanks are full
Like we were
Who we were
When this long, strange trip began
for T. and S.
Love Folds
Some things do not rinse out
Too many shirts stained
Sloppy eater
More focused on taste
Than propriety
When you were good
I lost focus
On everything else
Neglecting to iron out
The wrinkles before us
The detergent
Either too strong
Bleaching problems
Whitewashing tiffs
Or too weak
All the soiled sheets
That remained so
Our laundered empathy
Our hung out to try sympathy
Threadbare our love
I thought it best
To dry and fold
But it is no use
I will mothball you
With all the others
I’ve worn out