didgman1

when ironing

your best work shirt naked,

it’s best not

to let your mind wander

to jennifer lawrence in her altogether.

doing so could give rise

to a whole new meaning of the term

red-hot poker.

2.18.21

“down in the quarter”

tuba’s booming bass line,

greasy baritone,

i gotta second-line shuffle

rattlin’ deep in my bone!

i wanna dance down bourbon

with my saucy voodoo queen --

a sexy lady named suzy

who’s a devilish little thing.

we can take the party to the river,

throw our troubles right in,

and dance beneath a yellow moon

in nothin’ but our skin,

and...
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#1

silly sideways grin -

look at you there, drunk again -

not sharing your wine.

#2

naught but a sliver

hiding behind winter clouds -

it’s your turn to count.

#3

and now, you’re not there.

or is it me who’s missing?

someone closed a door.

the sky was broken,

bruised, and heavy...

the simplicity of a storm

is amazing...

alive, it crawled,

it whispered, it screamed...

a darkness wanting carnage,

metal, bone...

a darkness trapped,

unwanted in shadow...

a darkness not seen

in mirrors...

the simplicity of a storm

is amazing.

tonight,

amid a chorus

of winter frogs,

i want to get drunk

on moonstone wine

and go skinny-dipping

in your soul

“a moment, a memory”

i really like that picture

of us on the deck of that little

place in north carolina.

well, i like the picture of you;

you look mischievous and prurient,

and i, well, i look like i look.

we drank heavily soon after

it was snapped,

and fucked in a stranger’s bed.

we should make a habit of that.

i really like...
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“...in hindsight”

your hair, when you rolled over this morning,

still smelled of smoke

from last night’s bonfire.

it reminded me of marshmallows,

which is all i could think about

while we made love,

which is ok, because i like marshmallows.

but now that you’re downstairs

making the coffee,

i wonder, as i write this,

how you’re going to react when you read

of me...
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“yep...”

the leaves smell like cheap rum

and conjure images of that

waitress in the skimpy shorts

which is completely unfair

to that waitress, her skimpy shorts,

and cheap rum everywhere

but i’m not sorry because life is unfair

and waitresses who wear skimpy shorts

in the presence of dirty old men

are bound to become the subjects

of sub-par poetic ramblings

after a good...
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