mid day liquor store
sun ablaze wearing gold dress
i sit on milk crate smoking break
from unemployed day
boys girls tourists from Detroit
camera filters flashes and lens
they think im something
but im really nothing more than
a puffer of rings up the sky
beside two buildings
average thoughts baseball innings
hamburger helper bowls
gas prices and cheap strip shows
when they bore of shiny Hollywood
back to hotels and premeditated meals
my arms crossed behind my head
laying on fire escape
conversing with blue moon’s older sister purple moon Hendrix
Poetry
3wordpoetpost
crowded ground
a little girl chose me from the crowded ground
she gave me a tiny flower
as her little sister sang a pop song about a universe
no doubt a gift from the great beyond
to wash away the midnight in my heart
some of us
freedom of the love
to open the heart as wide as hers
to shower the earth with golden light
some of us have given up
some of us will still get up
and some of us rejoice
with the hope all is well
just a few moments more
3wordpoetpost
questions
what is it like to sit in silence and hear the sounds of ocean waves playing
what is it like to face the sun and feel the wind cool and soft
what is it like to have lightness and to feel the colors of sea glass through my pores
and why is it that the dock doesnt move me to sleep and instead
i grip with my soul
afraid to drift away
my life stuffed
between 3 and sunrise shift
my eyes stay wide open
aches of muscle and moments passed
regrets are very minimal
thoughts deftly switch from history
to your lips and how dry and harsh they were to me
then a statistic or two or three
will break the catatonia
my life stuffed into the thought of you only
brings to light that i have wasted precious time
self
orange peels fresh in the sink
my finger tips scented by their honey
outside the heat lectures the breeze
little birds lined up fluffy down ornaments
i ask myself
self what will you do today
and i answer i dont know
you do that everyday self
arent you tired
and i answer yes but not like how you think
the birds are still
the window thick but i can read their beaks i know theyre singing
and i say to self
self how about oatmeal
the Irish kind with a little cream and fresh peaches
starring with blank eyes
at the punk rock collage
stirring the cinnamon and sugar
my 4 year old self giggles out from the jar
pig tails tan corduroy dress
bare tiny foots and a Disney coloring book
self instructs me to stand
and i walk away from her
the little freedoms
not this morning nor any other time
has silken hair been a concern
old jeans black ashy tee
worn grimy chucks
red painted lips not for me
scab marks on fingertips
smiling face collecting things
at the antique store
thoughts of politics tea and scorn
stopped in track by butterfly songs
flutters of black orange magic
finally relieved
my sister later said
that when mother left
the tears on her velvet cheeks
were like lily petals
time has passed
on most days when
i notice myself in the mirror
memories of her voice and sorrow
crowds my day
by eve’s time
sitting alone on the porch
some plump flying angel
will rustle up the honey suckle
and a vision of mother i can feel
quiet resting finally relieved
words less spoken 