Thursday, February 13, 2014

Salt lick

The buttons pop
Between my thumb
And forefinger like
Precious pearls
Eros dream weave
One layer at a time
Pearl buttons
Giving way to
Flesh buttons
Soft buttons
Into buds
I can touch
With the tip
Of my fingers
And then my tongue,
Like a buck deer
Licking the tip
Of a salt lick
Churned up
As I pump up
And press my lips
Around it
To taste the oozing
Pale honey
I must drink deep
Or perish

Changing leaves

(from All Roads Lead to Scranton)

We leave with the changing leaves
This mountain side, this rushing brook
This fall off to the depths of souls
We could only imagine until we
Actually walked this walk
And talked this talk,
The sharp edge of some great
Adventure upon which sit
Waiting, wading in the stream
Of life while below in the valley
The sluggish autumn waters
Darkly reflect us and the leaves
And the trees that must someday]
Turn green again

Sunday, February 9, 2014


The ice melts in my mouth as I sip
A sweet nip I can’t get enough of
Or let seep deep enough into it me
Each drip linger on my lip
For the tip of my tongue to taste
In haste, not to waste, smothering my face
Until I’m hip deep in this,
Aching from toes to nose
For a taste of something that
Won’t melt so easily, but lingers
Still inside of me, as my tongue
digs deep to where the honey lies,
Each breath as gasp for air
I don’t need to breathe so much
As the scent of you.

Thursday, February 6, 2014

Out of the nest?

I can’t breathe right in this chill,
Though steam pours out of my mouth
As I make my way over the crusted earth,
The bare trees exposing each vulnerable
Nest that leaves hid in season and
Kept their contents safe,
And most have become empty
Cages out of which the birds
Or squirrels or raccoons
Have fled, the rigid world
Offering the former residents
No warm place to take refuge
And so they go and I go
And we walk this world
Together like shadows of each other
Waiting desperately for spring
To thaw us
Inside and out,
So we might rebuild the nests
We fled in winter.

Monday, February 3, 2014

Sales pitch

It’s the same pitch
But at a different pitch
Made shrill with the spill
Of desperation,
A card-shark’s bark
When he’s eased
The last ace from his sleeves,
And is forced to bluff
Or seek an honest living,
You can only sell a bad lemon
So many times before
The lemonade turns
Too sour for anyone to sip,
It’s not what you sell
What you must sell yourself
But how dinged or dented
The fenders are, or how
Thick you lay on the polish,
You can’t disguise rust stain
Tears for real tears,
Or a bad paint job for trust,
And like virginity
You can’t get trust back
Once it’s gone,
Regardless of how many
Times you repaint the package,
Leaving only those who love you enough
To buy it all sight unseen,
Knowing what they’re going to get
In the first place.