esker-fire

One can tell She's sat on a few tailgates before. Tanned legs reach Flip flops dangerously Close to slapping the pavement. The boys whistle when they pass. They can tell, She's sat on a few tailgates before.  

The tip breaks, my paper an instant graphite mess. Faint lines are shadows of previous thoughts, discarded by the pink nub at the end of my Ticonderoga. I wonder if Thoreau thought about all the words people would erase with his pencils. Probably Not. Thoreau lived in the moment. He lived deliberately.

Honey. I didn't know what else to say So I did the automatic thang say Honey Hey Honey, Let's go for a walk. Let's talk about the bricks beneath our feet, laid out in front of us like a path towards heaven. Cobblestone, irregular shapes that someone laid, to get paid so that we can walk And that guy, over there, doesn't need to sleep on the asphalt. Hey Honey. I see your eyes wanderin Glazin with tears, light reflecting the years That you Two were together. Twenty Is a long time, but you should be thinkin About these bricks we're walkin on. Yellow, Indian Red, even traces Of Colbalt blue, if you look close enough. Hey Ho

                                                           A petulant, preoccupied porcupine                                                           sweeps his quill across parchment,                                                   perfecting powerful points about motherhood                                           and love and the grandeur of previous porcupine princes.                                  He proposes possible solutions to zoning laws, waste treatment plants,                     and, of course, the protection of the dwindling populations of plants which he digests.                                  Perusing hi

The day I realized I loved you we were both really, really, really stoned. Reclined in the best LAZeeboy I have ever experienced. Curled into your chest, impossible to imagine a pillow more willing, more comfortable than this. Our bodies fit each other like rainbows and butterflies like peanut butter and banana sandwiches like Bonnie and Clyde we were meant to be and then you said those three little words, "Babe, Water, Please?" and I knew, there was no one else I could pass the water to.

I eat/sleep/feel/breathe Poetry. I run with Poetry. I sail past the stars with Poetry and float back down holding red,yellow, blue balloons with Poetry. I'm not picky with Poetry: Consonants, Vowels, Prepositional Phrases I swallow Poetry. One gulp:gluttony required. I buy Poetry volumes, fill my bookcases, take up space on my night side table, prop up my crooked desk with old poetry anthologies because I like the idea that poetry can straighten you out. When I talk about poetry you can see the love: face glowing, words flowing, lips spewing waterfalls of syllables, every muscle screaming give me words give me liter