Tumble Cake

If I could have an ice cream,
I’d rather buy two.
If I could take a walk,
I’d rather go with you.

If I could make a home, 
I’d build it with a view.
Large windows while you’re outside
so I could stare at you.

Whenever I’m alone, dear,
you’re inside my head.
All the things I’m missing
I’d hear from you instead.

Hold Cloak, Bring Dagger

Skepticism in its sheath,
a proverb donned on me. 
Judgement come cloud,
some lost and some found,
repetitious melody. 

Anticipate their looks, 
the mile long stares, 
breeding surreptitiously. 
Eyes bounce and hang;
besieging pack of googlies.


Vanished from him
across the sea.
Drying eyes 
with salted air, 
the Northbound man 
set trade winds free. 
A raft adrift 
though lashings taught. 
Emptying his pockets,
scatter rusted keys. 
He recognized one:
strong toothed iconoclast;
a head worn. 
Exchanged tired looks. 
Escape from safe keeping 
or so would seem. 

Bombs away!

“Bombs away!” 
came the bombardier 
shouting to his captain.
“Bombs away.” 
his captain confirmed
low along the horizon.
“All that 
for one person?”
came the bombardier, again, 
though not one to question orders.
The captain thought it strange,
never one to question openly.
“Do you think”

-explosions rippled below- 

“do you think 
they’ll feel anything?”
For the first time, 
the bombardier wondered.
Only silence answered.
Bomb a building,
a tank, 
an army, 
any of many things;
they feel nothing.
One person, 



Thoughts slip and fall.

Drops off a faucet, oh, 
damn indecent of them all. 
Naked strangers
strewn casually about. 
The world could care. 


Forgive the interruption,
a minute at most.
Sign the form, and step
one toe onto the line. 


However you make your mark. 


Please, step one toe,
a harmless piece, 

yes,         there


       yes, see, 







Tired grow the eyes,
yet hunger fills the dreams.
Seconds dwindle daily
while life’s leaves steep.
Words I speak fairly, 

“None too fair,  
the lives we keep.” 

In the bottom,
the porcelain fine print, 
you wonder of the tea.
To smile sweet;
just grudge on,
or change indefinitely.


I count all my hair, 
stinging with electricity, 
ozone on my sleeve. 
A peat bog with water waist deep, 
moss on down the halls. 
Bouncing a voice long gone, 
“How do we breathe?” 
Escaping as we speak. 

Beautiful words confine me, 
a misery of mystery. 
Restless at the seams. 
A prison so lost friends won’t find me. 
How does this compare? 
Another kind of exposure.