foiled by your deceptive
glances leading yet another
one through the parking lot
past dark alleys and into
sketchy old warehouses
just to go bowling
Day: March 12, 2009
this isn’t your mamma’s spring
poetryspring has come
with cold and rain
and almost but not quite sleet
and wind and clouds
and gloom and doom
and all the things I wish
would last all year.
the rumbling: an ode to thai curry
poetryit goes rmmrmmm
and it goes bmmbmmm
calling unwanted attention
to my self-disclosing mid-section
despite my attempts to
hush and shush and
my muttered “shut-up stupid stomach!”s
So Good.
poetryLackadaisically we
found ourselves submerged
within the folds of our
own self-indulgent malaise.
All confidence aside, we
faltered all too willingly
into a sultry – if sordid –
Non-movement.
It’s the worst thing we
could do to ourselves,
but damn it,
sometimes,
it feels so good.
the sieve and the sand 