This Could Have Happened

The big screen door slapped in the summer wind, and a storm was coming over the Midwest. I went out on the back steps and talked to the cats, we had about 17 of them, and then went inside. I was totally alone and there was no sound, just the tall panes of glass in the old windows of this house which was from roughly 1904. 

God on a Rug

Those bastards, she cried, as she held her side.

She couldn't believe that she was just shot on set.

Tie me down she thought to herself, as she turned cold.

Days later, when she awoke from the coma

she informed everyone that she had visited God

and he had enough carpet tacks there for everyone

and there would be no more television shows

with guns, ever.

The Green

I will write a letter with black ink

and let it run down the page.

I will stop at a traffic light,

and wait patiently for the green.

I am Heading to the Tropics

I'm going to Costa Rica

I'm standing in the rain

I am going to see my daughter

I have three suitcases of pain

I'm going to ride a horse

I'm going to pet the mare

I'm going to look death in the eye

and not be scared.

I will find the Voodoo Priestess

and drink water from her well.

I will know the stance of mercy,

I know her very well.

I will hold the baby in my arms

and feel my heart skip a beat;

long and languid tropics

my cold and aching feet.

Did I hear the parrot

in the jungle,

his cry echoing far and wide?

It sounded like this:

--------------  ----------- --------- --- - -- -    -     -            -

I moved back a giant leaf,

and there he is:

Beckoning me with his big beak

to take another look inside

this forgotten cave,

where the waterfall runs

deep within.

Man and Son

The man from Japan stared at the moon for a moment, before turning his head and looking at the water to find a reflection of himself and the moon on the same plane. 

His child threw a pebble                                                                                     the picture.

           into the water, 

                        not realizing that the ripple 

                                                            would interrupt (go up)

The Neon Sign Softly Glares

I crashed into the mind of a sign

made of neon glowing and

softly glaring

if there's such a thing

as to softly glare.

A Stove with the Eyeliner Blues

Sometimes I am concerned.

I am concerned that the coffee grinder,

which I use to make my coffee,

is too loud.

It's on the counter, right next to the wall.

The same wall 

which is shared with my neighbor's apartment. 

I sometimes wonder

when I am whirring beans at 7:16 A.M.

if it's not right next to his head

in the bedroom.

His pillow could be up against that very wall.

His sleeping skull could be a mere foot

from the crazy loud machine.

I think this as I whir the beans.

Then, I continue making coffee on the stove.

The stove I am not so fond of.

I had a wonderful, crummy old stove

perfect for making sweet potatoes

and then the landlord's goons

came with a brand new stove 

and insisted on changing it out.

I protested, but lightly.

But now, the stove just doesn't feel me.

It's white like a spaceship,

with bubbly black metal 

and it just seems like a giant

marshmallow

with a bad case

of eyeliner blues.

I'm in Love with a Statue

Take me home, sweet statue of stone,

your smooth skin beckons my hand to rise from my side

and strike your thousand-year-old cheek.

The stripes from my human sweat

leave a mark on the calm marble

while my heart races. 

The Gift of Improvisation

I finally figured myself out this whole shebang is an exercise in freestyling, or improvisation as the theater folks call it. I am gifted enough to know how to make a run-on sentence sound like I meant to do it, and it's truly a surprise to open the box and find out what I got. 

For the Sake of Sounds

Plastic attitudes wrapped up in caustic milk

Shank Hall Milwaukee ginger root

Fade flipper fabulous

gritty tooth

Hillbilly history hip mystery silk

Grease Fur Tumbler

Fried Chicken Stumbler

Preamble ashcan.

My Values

The sensual man is hot but even fire is slow to burn wet paper.