Streams

Whatever stream it gets to you by,

it’s still a stream—leading nowhere

to some, somewhere to many, and

to others it’s—already there.

Florida Sunset, 2018

all that now surrounds me

This morning I am open

watching a flower bloom,

to all that now surrounds me

as nature is my womb,

born into the sunlight

I’ve one more string to tune,

as all that now surrounds me

my song sung unto you.

Nonsense

I was thinking how peculiar

right before I made a U turn

It was early Sunday morning

flashing sirens without warning

Looking both ways like a child

crossing with chicken on the road

there is this man who looks me up

and down as I begin to sigh

Then I look in both direction

turn the wheel with cruel intention

In the distance there’s this woman

picket signs read save the children

I am half way home before I know

exactly what I’m doing though I

stop the car unlock the door

and let the woman in

She sits criss-cross like a virgin

while I drive off she is urgent

I don’t know what you are thinking

she speaks softly without blinking

I was waiting for the bus when you

rolled up I must confess I recognized

your eyes from times gone by

like strangers on a train

It is awkward for a second

can I interest you in breakfast

She says sure she knows a diner

while she applies her eye liner

There’s a group of old men standing

with dead babies and demanding

that a women’s right is not all right

unless they’re in control

I’ll have coffee she’ll have coffee

yes please thank you two black coffee’s

In her teeth stuck there’s a poppy

seed my breath smells quite like onion

As the man from earlier walks by

the window just in time to see

again with no expression just a

long tedious sigh

He must think of me how boring

flashing sirens without warning

I feel seasick like a sailor

hey can you do me a favor

And that’s when she asks

to take her back in time for

her divorce of course she’d

first prefer some pie

On the drive home I was thinking

how peculiar she left winking

Shut the door then started walking

while I drove off she was talking

To the man who looked familiar

from the corner of my eye though

when I looked away then back again

they both just sort of sighed

Passing by the old cathedral

doors open releasing people

From their suffering they’re smiling

shaking hands exchanging sighs and

Across the street there’s signs

that read like jokes inside my mind

there’s men and women who protest

the earth is flat next to another group

who all claim there is no God.

Individual Sadness.

We each have our own

individual sadness.

Like a fine wine.

I drink it down.

Some tastes better

than others.

I drink hers down.

Then open another bottle.

We much prefer red over white.

Dry over sweet.

Though there have been those who’ve poured

and those who’ve carelessly spilled.

But none like this.

None so direct.

Covered in a deep, warm red

I much prefer her careful aim

as she throws the Cab into my face –

Betty Davis style.