Lady In Sepia

She lives on

Canvas

red hair

dark eyes

beautiful face

not smiling

though

solemn

almost a

pout

her cap

is soft, soft cream

covering her runaway curls

as if remonstrating them

for their errant behavior

A satin ribbon flows down from the side of her cap

down to her shoulder

like a melting icicle

ice against the fire of her hair

whoever saw this portrait

now colored with age

would wonder at her loveliness’

and question her solemn demeanor

me,

I just watch her

watching me

with

her cold sepia expression

suddenly unable to defend myself

I leave

almost

hearing

her soft sigh of disapproval...
 

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Dark Tequila Nights



Straight, no ice

in the liquid darkness

no tequila sunrises for me, thank you

I like it late night

stars just out of reach

blurred, twinkling

and the air is thick with Summer's

labored

heat

it is a sweaty affair

no frills

just the tequila and I

enjoying the long, slow ride

of going downhill

each sip

a

raw taste

bringing on

the

overwhelming feeling of

pleasure,

in the darkness.

then slowly,

I slip into a vision

of what I might have

become

had I chosen to

live

in daylight...
 

​

 

Books and Lovers



The book was sipped at

and put down

she crossed her arms in front of her

and savored

the beauty of the words

the dialogue that charmed

like someone she had once known.



some books were meant to be gulped

some chewed over

but this one,

this one,

was meant to be sipped

and savored



this one was meant to last…



unlike someone she had

once known.

 

White Noise



The sun came loudly into my room today

breaking into my hangover

with an over bright medley of white light 

and heat

crashing into my walls

making my curtains misbehave

and trade the cool darkness

for patterns of brilliance

slashing across my windows

so intense was the noise

that my pillow could not restrain it

so I got off my sofa

and limped slowly into the back

room

where some loving and

understanding architect

made sure

there were no windows



to let in

such an unwelcome intruder

as light.
 

The Picture



The morning is fresh and idealized in my mind

I stop, get out of the car, camera at the ready

looking with it's fresh eye, for an image to present

itself

there it is

a long sleek, metal truck, it's engine off

tiny windows all along it's side

window slat window

the pattern captures my attention

such a redundant, yet perfect pattern

I go closer, lens ready to click

and then eyes, 20 to 50 pair staring straight at me

holding in sadness so remote, it freezes ice

I step back, really looking this time

out pops a head

straining, straining but unable

to escape

this monstrous truck

 

lambs

it's a hideous transport

a jail

of agonized animals

looking out at the world

who never looks at them

except as chops

perfectly wrapped

to feed unabated appetite

closing my eyes

I took the picture

it was the least I could do

 

I don't take pictures anymore...



 

 

 

 

 

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