Her Boobs Were By Computer

We were able to talk once

Looking on the street, it
is gone

Someone wanted hugs, did
someone want a hug

The landscape of the moment,
an orange mountain

Has turned to shadow
where the old ones with
leather and wood
kept talking as humans

Yet in the morning
with their children
they hold computers
amongst the silver bridges of
California

We have gone down to the
computer store,

but it is gone now too

Summer Little Beauty

She had a monochromatic mole on
her face

Just above her brow

It played with a poetry of brown hair
and
blue eyes

like the breath of the beach and the
blue sky above it

Every single moment that I walked
away from a window
where she stood
was like a new eon being created in
the cosmos

A crystal star, a crest of drawing ocean

One unique feeling
amongst all the lives that have lived
under
the sun

Divorce Or “The Non-Perfected”

We are divorced.
Divorced.
Now.
The children don’t walk into
the kitchen to see us.
The children don’t exist in
the garden
or the backseat of
the SUV
moving through moonlight
into the
mountains.

Your hair falls for some other
kind of
silence on the bathroom
floor.

The grime on the light switch
stays.

Another family moves in.

The heroic
Industrial Revolution is
winning.

It defeats the unpresentable.

The solo. The non-perfected.

divorce

The Graduation Party

2015/05/img_7845.jpg

There are graduation parties around
town tonight
I won’t be there
under the Spring bloomed oak trees
souring scents of keg beer
and hanging bulbs of pink lights

Those days are fifteen years beyond
me now
My head is but a hazy haze each
new morning
Not filled with subjects of moons
and phases or the kissing lips of
fresh skin by the windblown lake

What would I do at a graduation party
anyway
besides toss cupcakes upon the
hoods of classic cars
then come round with a mower
the next day
to cut a damp and fertile lawn
to start the crusty ruse of economics
that the empty call adulthood

As The Men Shall Love

Such passionate men are these

The ones in the fields in Turkey

Who have left their concrete buildings

Taken their radios to dance on a

dirt road

close to brushy woods together

Only as men all along should have
loved
each other

and made the world a little softer
with joy and expression

Barbara And Raymond

Barbara & Raymond

I saw them on a road

On a road in New Zealand

Pine trees rose up like toothpicks

Mountains browned and tired with
sand grains in the distance

She carried her velum curves

They had softened since her younger
years

Carried them up the slopes by the
roadway

He held out his hand asking her to
come back down

She clamored up the dry grass toward
the pines

There was a cut on his cheek from her
wedding ring

His cheeks felt like clay

So did his thoughts for his head was
a haze

She stayed like a child by the beef jerky
bark of a tree

And when he finally found her he asked

“Barbara why are you doing this?”

She answered him with blank stares
reflecting on her life

She was beginning to fear her old age