kiss me anyway

whether it all matters
or none of it,
the swirls always seem blue
and the nights not quite long enough

Don’t drink the gravy

Rail-splitters don’t often get lost
in cyberspace
and when they stroke themselves,
it’s most often to the cadence
of old Chevy turn signals-
you know, the ones on dusty,
almost-forgotten intersections
near stations with the most heartache.

Heavy timber aside,
fatigue (from fresh air)
draws stalwart pickle-eaters
to diners with open-faced sandwiches
and lots and lots of gravy.
Coffee mistaken for counsel,
grumbles covering pride,
old men fighting for place.

No room for an ode
where a limerick may go,
words to such men
are akin to reading a backwards clock,
hoping to predict weather
by counting knee aches and cricket chirps.
They split hours, laughing at young love
keeping their coffee and gravy in place.

In-between

Morning has been so quiet,
I can hear the humming
of my house-
refrigerator, clock’s second hand,
whirring fan, laptop charging.
My own breath sounds enormous
and when I open a window,
birds scream and the sky laughs with wind.
I stay just inside the door,
unsettled within but not at all sure
I want to go out.
Moving freely but days ago,
shivering in place now.

I would like to tuck away
these times in-between.

cloud-skipper

no, I am not rust or caramel
but I love those things
and they take up
inordinate space
in my imagination

will you read to me
on a rainy afternoon?

Cereal prize

hunkered down in front
of a radio, hearing war stats
and pie recipes,
there is nothing for it
but to grow a story from
the button box-
like great-grandma in her apron

there’s a streaming thunderstorm
bringing the funk to town
in wingtips and filigree