We walk the trails
Sing the songs
Long as magpies
Sleeveless t-shirts
Bouncing morals
Along lost, found
Followed around
Somebody’s EKG


To Someone

So farther now
I want to run
Down the alley
Barefoot, on

Father’s Day to
Play hide and
Go rebel else
As impressed

In Hallmarked
To: from, the
One who only
Wants to run

As It Waves

She looks like pictures of little her in pink. Agony isn’t easy. We see, without comprehension. Then, the wrong color gum ball dropped. Not, like that.

Not a drop, half European seen war worn Ellis Island. While we wonder what statue stands tall down there. Where a quarter plaque’d poem welcomes home. Like that.

And, what if? Hard working minimal, no assistance. Gifted children placed in advanced classes. Passed as green in waiting. On the backs of. Humanity, not like that

It Meant

Maybe, I need to
Articulate, articulate
Fingered up, swinging
Leading the woodwind
Section, because love
Is just,
The book said saxes
Are meant to be felt
As brass, my ass, jazz
Composition text says
Is such,
In followed up, down
Found, they’ve never
Sung in an alley’s sun
Wet under the moon
As much,
Hum tymphanies don’t
Sing of a heartbeat
Seen beneath bricked
Hit rhythm’s cushioned
By thyself

Endangered One

It’s been awhile since I’ve listened to Vivaldi, Mendelssohn. Sonny Boy (II), daily reminders caged, paced. I placed a twist tie to hold his door open. Fly. Damn it. As his head cocks to why.

“I’ve got $20 to my name, past its sigh. Swear it’ll be there till I die.”

He doesn’t understand. Fans himself light. Tries to bathe in his drinking tube,(as I) cheeps. Me trained. I fill a bowl. Told like at the coffee maker every morning asking for food. “It’s full.” What have we done.


Did it again, when a deep breath
Then deleted something
About rum and coke down the sink
Midnight morning’s, think
Between the smooth pressed iced
And neat, drinking it all in
Rhythm they’ll not feel like flannel
Against summer’s skin
Shrugged off, of dangling exposure
Moonlight’s floral stare
Preconditioned there between the

Out The Window

Pumpkins don’t grow
On trees in spring…
Three evil sisters just
Squashed a dream…
Dressed up mice
Don’t know how to sew…
Blue birds can’t sing
With no wings to go…

Princes don’t grow
on trees in spring…
Blue birds cry
when they want to sing…
The other shoe fits
if it’s in a dream…
Seen out the window
beat with two clipped wings

She should’ve helped me
She should’ve helped me
Every time they said jump
I would say how high
But then my fairy godmother
Left me high and dry