The Garden

The Garden


The delicate membrane beneath her eyes, reminded me of the kale we grew that summer.
We sautéed it with wild onions and smoked bacon, while sipping Viognier.
We spent the days sweating and toiling in the garden.
Our manicured fingers chipped and stained.
Stained of the yellow clay that fought our efforts.
Stained of the beets, we had pickled and canned.
Stained of the French cigarettes we smoked, sipping espresso at dusk.



Her rosary grasped in her pale fingers, is shiny and dark;
like the Aubergine we stuffed with pine nuts, mint and heirloom tomatoes.
We sipped Pinot Noir and supped on a blanket that day.
Our lavender scented limbs where spotted
with mosquito bites and thistle scratches.
We danced barefoot in the strawberry patch and sunned nude with the basil.
She said it was to be her last year of firsts.



Her face is garish in war paint,
covering her sun grown freckles and downy cheeks.
She is hidden in black silk and stiff with rigor.
She is the houses decked in bright twinkle lights and aerial reindeer,
disguising their weathered eaves and rickety railings.
She is the garden; dead and buried.
I am the garden; awaiting the sun.

Chance Meeting

Chance Meeting

Feet pinched into to high stilettos.
My made up dress, made up face, made up smile.
Armed with my little scraps of rectangular identity.
My coin to barter for lunches, meetings, networking.

Clusters of professionals; fakirs of business.
Give introductions, titles and how do you do's.
We fade in and out of clusters,
cycling through prospective new ventures.

Our cocktail smiles are melting offering glimpses
of self that are beginning to peek through.
A spark of our potential compatibility;
glints off the depths of our vodka soaked ice.

Navigating the room, unconsciously together;
the din is growing in volume and speed
The hour has passed into a new workday,
we depart separately, to our individual spaces.

In our realities we steep. Reliving the movements;
the connection with a new body.
Email follow up commences. In ours,
the subject reads: Timing is everything

daffodil

daffodil yellow
chasing away winter sky
ringing in spring

Orange

Orange

You beckon me.
A beacon to my corneas,
a come hither glow

I grasp you firmly.
Your pebbled rind resting comfortably,
in my eager mitt.

Twist and yank.
You are severed from your ancestor,
forever.

Civil graces,
linens and flatware,
for which there is no time.

Your culinary pheromones,
strip me down,
to primitive instincts.

Gouging cracked nails,
into your sun warmed skin.
You attempt to delay

Your pithy resistance,
acidic tears,
only spur on my hunger.

Hastily, I rip you open
Studying your
membranes and segments.

The carnage continues.
You burst upon my palate
curling tongue, pursed lips.

Sunshine fills my sinuses,
my gums burn with
your tart eulogy.

Your remains are litter.
Sticky fingers
reach for your brethren.

gone

gone


I dreamt of oranges last night.
I rolled over,
to tell you of the silly dream,
a smile teasing my lips.



But you are gone.

vicodin

Vicodin

waves of euphoria
crash upon my rocky existence

I am
summer sun,
warm chocolate,
lullabies

you dissipate, leaving
my senses unguarded
my emotions raw

me alone with myself
I swallow
capsule of joy

awaiting my ascent
to the white tower

last weeks pics

Last week was busy but, I manage to snap a few pics of interest.


Here is myself diving downtown east bound as the sun rises.


An interesting photo of the building reflected with the building next to it.



I saw this and had to buy it for a co-workers birthday. It sens HBO has bottled a Soprano's soda which is chianti flavored. I didn't taste it but, was told it was akin to an old lolly pop given out at the DR office.