Like Lightening

August 10, 2022

There’s but one pretty way to spell my long sentence.

( image mine)



pray, tell

There’s but one pretty way to spell out

                                  my long sentence.

If random luck holds out   perhaps

The power, like lightening  stabs

                                  down my stance,

I’ll light up  Dark dancing static

X Rayed,  & loony like on a cartoon.

Man, I’ll be lit up like a mantle

                                      in a lantern soon.

Windfall clarity

should  scare all of me then.

If I should flinch when I  have,  by chance

One unscrambled avalanche,

Doled out sure/steady

As an hour old Soulful  pillow  rain

It  means

I’ll miss  all this  when

The  words  come,

Spilling these spaces.&

I  can’t  be..

I ain’t nervous of naked undersurfaces

A Quest For Beauty

August 7, 2022

Stealing each stare

artist- Megan Howland


Until I have a heaven

I’m still sorry, & best regards.

Don’t say, “It’s not your fault.”

I mean I see sorrow, I like looking down.

You’d think I was taking my cue by 5 x 7

Index cards, Cue cards

On the ground.



When I wait for nothingplenty

And wearied, looking right at distraction,

Don’t say, “Close your eyes, for a halt.”

I mean I see beauty, I like looking there

You’d think I was stealing each stare, 20/20,

And pilfering underfeathers of satisfaction

In the air

We shan’t, This very last love…





This life  it hasn’t made sense

To lie or stand  defenseless

This very  last  love

We can’t count on weapons

We slept  inept w/weapons

Untrained & too tame,

Just unable,   too civil  for weapons





It’s not much of a stretch

(In this sun,) to see

“Sanctuary” can actually rhyme with


Free Then

July 31, 2022

“Some find themselves through joy, some through suffering and some through toil. Johnny had till now tried nothing but whiskey. A process that left him feeling like somebody new everyday”

— — Nelson Algren, from The Man With The Golden Arm

we gloated that we’re good…good for it

that we’re en garde

that we’re hard enough to save our stuff

that it’s “Nope” to that slip slidey slope

that everything’s cool, Fornever a fool

well under control, well over

casting fates to the wind,

outlasting the weights & pulleys

of emotional construction sites,

floating free from the tangles of the sea

and I see our swimming spinning spirits

“dangerously” adrift

in the warm willing lift

of our joy

A snapshot now





I won’t unearth or search for words to say
(He’ll stall, awaiting rainfall, mainly all his way)
I could not define an exact indefinite shine on black
(He’ll stall, & sit out ever-bless ed respites,
Given all irresponsible slack)


It’s time i need to feed this emaciated body of work
This one’s for one who can console her man’s work
She’d still back him , faithful to his ebbing strength
I’d reminisce, requesting a look at a photo on a phone
A snapshot now to lend to him an unloading at length


Her listening, actually listening to him,
bove all, served as all the love a locked-up man could expect him.
A visitation, where we watched our eyes as we phoned.
Some guard gazed at us, as his job required.
We would gaze too, like a pet would on the lap of a man moaning

Slighter A Wind Than

July 27, 2022

Whispered words

photo-caryn drexl

Despite &,

With all her antics,

Winds still move her

Like it does a half-dozen

Tiny tea roses

Before they’re right, & hand-picked.

The slightest wind breezes

Will prove to move her

To a profound, but protected

Melancholy…Or unexpected joy,

Slighter a wind than

Whispered words might envoi,

Darenear her softest skin.


July 22, 2022

flying things instinctively know

to dry out their wings, first,

to try out their wings, & go.

surfacing a splendid splash,

surviving a fearful fall and crash,

take time off to dry off &

shake off the surprise of failure.

wake up and walk off what,

and where you are

before you forget to prepare for it

all to dare

the first time, again.

whispering from the Mystic




No stranger, enters the room.

(I’ve thought of it a thousand times)

A final scene, in frozen zoom.


a muskscent from a love above, yet a bit menstrual metallic.

a joke on angelic.

She drapes my drawn face. damp.

I shapen long words for my last breaths and

she thrusts every page I’d saved

(stark boy to dark man/ all my sacred words)

She threw every page down (after waving them around)

And in sacred words of her own

“ Read ’em and weep”

Then blessed her lips

onto mine.



a friend of a friend, on the phone,

she shared a sharp poignant piece of her.

Sharp & important to her. It pierced me to hear.

From a near death bed of her dear best friend,

It came whispering from the Mystic,

he gathered his loves up

and asked if his paintings were boxed up.

More /Mordant Redux

July 20, 2022

I cant, but I’m wanting to be more mordant

I must bring my grades up, get rated-up “smart-alecky”

I could slip pseudo-snarky from the back of the class

It’d muster some sweet laughter, then go warm just like true love

Though they’d see that I had come to this,

All red-faced and lost

god, if only I got some of this

Resting red-faced and lost.

Brought back at no cost.


photo- Mwesigwa joel (unsplash)


July 18, 2022

“Spires” photo-g.r.melvin

And the new snow invites us to play less discretely;
some grinding, and many of us finding
we want to make angels.
Actually, it’s something else.
The only sin is when we were away from the Symmetry,
only our warm skin sinks away from the top beauty
melts us down through to the ground, just off

As the churches discharge us out into the street
and the noon sun insists we work more discretely,
unwinding some, and most of us finding
we want to make do.
Particularly, make something of this paradigm.
Outside, in spite of sunlight on spiritual heights… In Spires
just sparrows float, their flight just right, required.
We’ll make do on the ground, just off.