The Wild Hare and The Sunless Feline

On a wind swept plain
A gnarled tree
is the only break in the horizon line
the branches extend in all directions
knots of wood dark against the
fading sky, awash in the monotone
of twilight.

The burrow is nestled
between two hulking roots
an untrained eye
wouldn’t even imagine the places
it could lead.

The wild hare sleeps there
his ears lay flat along his back
and his nose twitches as he dreams
paws quiver against the dirt as he stirs
in so deep a sleep
he doesn’t sense
what’s waiting outside.

In a house,
on a suburban lane
lit only by the streetlamp glow,
A cat is curled
in the corner of a couch
sleeping soundly
her tail curled delicately
over her paws,
her whiskers shimmer as they spasm.
When she sits in the window
is the only time she sees outside.

Its only in their dreams they meet
in the day they don’t remember
what they are missing so much.

Forget it When You’re Dancing

Hipster
Scenster
bodies move together
thrashing through
time and space
just to catch
the sweetest sounds
that will ever
vibrate
their bones.

Underneath
the eyeliner, hair dye,
and vintage clothes
they have souls
that are looking for something
in the night air
something
that will make it all more clear.

The Scenic Route

There are no rings of fire
just opinions to prove wrong
if you walk through life
always looking at your feet
to avoid the land minds
you’ll miss all the sunsets.

I try to keep my eyes
on the sky
even when the rain stings them
you can still make out
the pretty parts
clouds, stars, moon and sun
depending on the day and time.

Every time I get blown to bits
by accident
the pieces always
find there way back together
so I’ve learned not to be afraid
even if it stings
I’ll find my way eventually.

Swimming in the Same Direction

Beneath these waters
are all the souls
who were dragged
below the tides pull.
underneath
the crushing waves
their bones are battered to
brittle dust,
their hair turns gray,
and their brains to mush.
All these waterlogged
corpses float like drift wood
behind her as she treads water.
over and over and over
she paddles in the same circle
trying to avoid them
rubbing up against her
the salty water
chokes her.
The cold of it
sinks into her knuckles
making each wave that breaks
over her
a little harder to struggle against.

My Maps a Little Worn Around the Edges

Ferris wheel flirtations
can last so long,
I don’t get dizzy
to often but when I do
I remind myself
you’re my favorite bad habit.

Like cotton candy
Or playing in the rain,
Horoscopes
And crying on bad days.

Your damned if you do
damned if you don’t
so move up close
and I’ll whisper it real clear
how far I’d fall
just to be caught by you.

My Achilles heel
Eros’s arrow
went straight through
but its okay
stanched the flow for now.

The water is so clear
you can see for miles
to the sandy bottom
mermaids and a kraken
guard a chest
full of pearls
that have all dropped
from your lips
to the bottom of this lake.

They Smelled Blood and High Heels

The blood letting began
when a pack of dogs
nipped at her ankles
till she stumbled over cement
and then they were everywhere
gnawing gently till they were full of her.
They ran ahead
into the distance
and she was able to
fumble on
through the dark streets.
She never walked them again
the same way
she always listened for the
distant sound of barking
or the clatter of nails on sidewalk.
Melted brown eyes
and blood covered muzzles
haunt  her dreams,
she sees them ragged
and merciless
deaf to her human screams.

Trail of Bread Crumbs

The unemployment line
winds and twines
around folding chairs,
and through stagnant air
people cough, shuffle, and slouch.
take a number without a doubt
you’ll be here awhile.

They are not a loathsome bunch,
just weary and lonely.
Hungry for any word
of the world out side
these beige colored walls.

When the bureaucrat comes out
(his shoes so shiny
they have to squint,
and his hair so straight,
gelled into place) a stir occurs.
They try not to stair into
those beady thoughtless eyes
as he brushes by
they can smell
the money coming off him.

No one speaks
afraid to jinx
their chances
at being chosen.
They hold their breath
till he leaves
then exhale immediately.
Wait, wither, disintegrate,
wish in a well for things
that never come.

Logic and Late Nights

This figure eight
is the ice I skate
around and around and around
glide and slid
and fumble and fall,
then get up
and go through again.

Logic is not my friend
we are old enemies
with a long history
I cut his throat
and left him to bleed out
Embracing emotionalism
Jumping from impulse to impulse.

Don’t tell me
you feel nothing
because sparks
in the dark
flares in the night
are what make this,
words that bounce
off one another
and glances that
hint toward maybe a little more.
An if its all in my head
then I’m taking these skates off
and going to bed

Oh My, The Things We Find When We’re Not Looking

Funny thing about the dark
you tend to run into things
like coat racks, trunks,
step on Lego’s.
they hurt your toes, knees,
and elbows,
but when its your heart
that wanders through the dark
it’s a very different pain.

Sometimes I am so unsure of things
it can knock my brain aside for
a few seconds.

But then it gets hold the reins again
tells me to sit pretty and bide my time
because no one likes a nag.

If you’re honest with me,
why do you lie to them
when nine times out of ten
it comes right back to me
like a viscous boomerang.

Darkening Your Doorstep

The panther padded
up to your door
scratching at the boards
you’ve let so many in before.

They hang about
tired hands
wilted ghosts
emboldened by your smile
but always pushed back
to a more becoming distance.

Its tail curls and unfurls
as it waits on your stoup
it’s a patient predator
it knows better then to resort
to efforts of muscle and sinew
aggression only goes so far.

Summer went
then autumn too,
now winter slips by
with each sunset
and still the panther endures.