dessert
stick your finger
in my pie
are you squared?
the equation
of wanting
what was baked
for someone else
Icy
and I sit here
motionless
frozen solid
by the grasp
of your cold words
Cheers!
the stink of my youth rots
refusing to be buried
under the sagging of aging chest
or the umbrella of "maturity"
and while youth raises hell
the grown up that tries to cage it
gets tired of the commotion
and takes vacation for awhile
and then youth's welling excitement
throws a party in my honor
bringing its spirit back alive
and I dig a hole six feet down
to conceal the enemy of time
and raise a toast that wishes for
the long life of my youth
abduction
in the time your eye batted
I was taken
completely stolen
by your spirit
never give me back
first aid
I stumble a lot
so I've resigned myself
to the idea
of licking my wounds
it is the salt of skin
that burns the cut
resting bitter on my tongue
it is the cleansing licks
that far surpass
the burn of the initial sting
but I, you see
am healing very well
Rawhide
why is it that the tumbleweed tumbles?
I ask myself this hoping the answer
will explain why the tumbleweed and I
have perpetual motion in common
could it be the tumbleweed is afraid
that staying immobile too long
will stagnate its experiences
leaving regret at a later date?
does it enjoy the rough of the ride
and the things it picks up along the way?
things it never would have discovered
had it refused to move on
as I drive in my car, towards possibilities
across a back stretch of desert highway
moving from Texas to Washington state
I see the tumbleweed rolling in my direction
we lock eyes briefly in passing
pausing only long enough to discover
that when we see the other's reflection
we recognize a part of ourselves
and still, I wonder, perplexed
why does the tumbleweed tumble
and why do I choose to do the same
but I realize that I may never know...
