Monday, 27 July 1987

Some old schtuff.

Sonrisa Dominicana

Spanish laughter
lifts in the air
punches holes
in my somber armor.

It asks, tenderly
“What is wrong?”
inwardly cries at a null response
and turns
to seek new

I cry in secret
at the loss of you.

Germantown Dusk


flight of arrows
westward to the horizon
wings shimmering in the heat
translucent golds
lavender highlights

glides in air currents
rising in the thermals
wings outstretched, passionate
eyes closed in rapture
an eagle’s shriek
with a westbound tack

to summer secrets.


Ristorante Italiana

table for one
away from the kitchen
back to the wall
not under the plants.

the skylight’s too bright
too much damned smoke
the fat lady farted
and fifteen percent
is just too

One thought on “Monday, 27 July 1987

Comments are closed.