my sometimes wish

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warrior of the asphalt

hawk talons grapple the dense power lines
an eighteen-wheeler speeds over the underpass
he’s flying more than the raptor right now
wonder what the driver is thinking
traveling alone
heaving semi propped up on massive tires
trailing long, behind his sun-bleached Kenworth cap
burning a day’s rubber
friction not exclusive to the highway
is he fatigued
in need of sleep
in want of the broad bed where she lay
milk-curved skin and pink perfumed
the way he likes her to wait
shouldn’t have left like that
anxious for the heavy payload and burning light
regretting his exhausted voice
bellowed like his semi’s Kleinn Triple Horn
he soars again and again
cranking his hand to move the big lady into gear
her gentle touch lingering on his skin
honeysuckle freshener and hand-rubbed leather
he’ll get the haul done
always does
this warrior of the asphalt
dreaming of flying highways
that speed him back to her

the explorers

why do we search for things we cannot find
do we need what we do not have
crave something we should not lack
as for me
my life is full
packed with faces
dreams escape in curves and pencils
nightmares pour into warm merlot
always warm
no cold going down my throat
even on scalding days
why do we search for things we cannot find
am I a coward
are you
not measuring true
cheating on the particulars
how long must she
moan
about this and that and them and him
always unclear
with clarity of purpose
why do we search for things we cannot find
what made them sail outward and away
venture into the vastness of the intimidating sea
a blank globe
seeking
needing what they did not have
craving something they did not lack
but wanting all the same
island pirate mask coolthis guy is mixed in media done last year

virgin voyeurs of earth

out the kitchen window
frenetic tenants
little prodigious noise makers
mustering their gumption
marshaling silken feathers
willing to tap the sky
drum wing beats on blues wind
a small hole
window to the world
a movie trailer sans surround sound
until this moment
and here I am cursing under my breath
gotta get on that damn elliptical
freakin’ pushups
then chauffeur
a carload of young men
shop the mall with a teenager
I want to draw, have to write
shit
the birdlets
damn, look at them
eyeing the planet for the first time
virgin voyeurs of earth
number one
the leap
fluttering onto the pooped deck
hopping like a freak club dancer
next
halfway out
shit, I’m wasting time
but how often
do you bear witness
to life’s entrance
I glue my antsy feet
watching
c’mon two
I’m egging her on
there she goes
crap
lands on the glass table
a venerable Rockefeller skater
those twig legs glide on sandy ice
whoosh
she’s gone
hop, skip, jumped onto a nearby tree
the little crapper on the pooped deck follows her lead
two new babies shaking up the leafy world
the third
hanging with its mouth agape crying for more food
time check
okay, I watched
I satiated my mother guilt observing the little miracle
I know I can write about this later, good for something
no more action coming from the hole
show is over
two newbies out to rock terra firma
I wonder how the fourth would have grown
a few days ago
I picked up a little broken body off the table top
she was not a skater
maybe a dreamer
well, I don’t want to think about this anymore
there is an elliptical that must be dealt with
pushups to be cursed through
a giant son and equally large friends to bring places
a daughter to shop with
and
there is a small window
a place
a baby might look through
before
crashing the world party

red-crested woodpecker

red-crested woodpecker

the middle

he took off to find himself
she ran backwards to reclaim her life
in pursuit of opposing directions
the wanderer searching the wilderness
the misdirected retracing awkward steps
each holding expectations of unmet fulfillment
restless bodies
incomplete spirits
and the sun
everywhere and all places
no matter the temporary shelter
encountered along these diametrical journeys
bodies, books, booze, breathing
gargantuan shadows will always claim impermanent light
and until both light and shadow are accepted
they will travel forward and backward
never getting anywhere
or
touching in the middle

Self/acrylic

glass teeth

island pirate mask warmwords meticulously cultivated
still
thoughts dribble sideways in
blood ink
coagulate on pulp
thin dressing on a deep wound
no thoughtful phrases beat
sorrow back
no meditation releases
terminal exasperation
of the flesh
of the mind
of the spirit

it is to be a journey then
off to the forest
where nothing will bother you
unaffected by mortal issues
trees are preoccupied with synthesizing
morning ’til evening
the moss will suck up your footprints
but when the leaves crash down
you must run to the ocean
or be exposed
water head-rushing into itself
perpetual frothing
sunrise to sunset
billions of glass teeth
willing to open up
and swallow you whole
and if they do
you’ll never make it
to the mountains
or
the desert beyond

blur

dancing in a deluge
freezing wet arrows pierce your body
everything blurs
could go exploring in the rain
determined to the ends of the earth
driven to the bottom of the oceans
like a wide-eyed child
searching
always searching
for a meaningful destiny
you don’t accept plain living
a grand enough purpose
even after the cold water
has cleared your vision
and washed the mud off your face
boy with green glowing eyes
wide-eyed previously published

chandeliers and picnic tables

there was this Chinese retaurant
it appeared one day
the previous tenant was a dollar store merchant
the kitchen went up faster than a flip tent
the cuisine, I can’t remember
what I do recall
is the decor
chandeliers hanging over picnic tables
it wasn’t right at all
but you know, those swanky lights
casting fractal beams
across distressed picnic tables
that belonged beneath iron lamp posts
are what brought me back
not the food
the smiles
the giggles
we ate there a few times
then as quickly as the restaurant had appeared
it vanished
like a traveling circus
I remember thinking
and hoping
those crystal lights and wooden tables
were off on another journey
to make merry the hearts of adults
who believed chandeliers
and picnic tables
were not ever meant
to be together
Travelin' Man

art previously published

paper planes

a love letter
can’t say something
about a thought
or a wish
or a dream
then feign ineptness
on possible interpretations
a love letter
unlike the page from a romance novel
ripped out
is the plotted climax
disconnected only by flesh
so if I was to write
I wish…
I dream…
I think…
I wouldn’t put it in a love letter
because unlike romance novels
fueled with overburdened intent
love letters can soar like paper planes
transporting subtext
along forlorn currents
attempting to reach destinations
romance novels can only write about

Lion Dreams

Lion Dreams

created in 2014 with Prisma pencil, previously published