Hour Ten
For Alaric
Thank you baby
for being a smile big enough
to wash away my frowns.
You emit joy like a little sun,
a gift rarer than gold
more precious than rubies
as necessary as air.
Ekka season
Echinacea, garlic, zinc, and C
supposed to boost immunity
but sick commuters on the train
have coughed their germs all over me
I sanitize my hands again
Hour Ten: Not So Secret Love
You’re amazing
Do you know that
The way you can light up my world without even trying
You can turn any bad situation into total bliss
And the taste of you
Oh the taste of you is so addicting
I swear you are filled with magic
Sweet, savory, and just melts with the warmth of my mouth
Who needs drugs or Caffeine when I can eat you all day 24/7
Oh how I love chocolate
Yellow Book
soiled pages torn
cheap novel read in caution
scurrilous content
Ode to Negative Space
Lucky or not I see faces everywhere.
Walking in a Death Valley canyon at dusk once,
I became overwhelmed by the changing animal and human faces
reflecting off the canyon walls.
I rejoice in that negative space
around and between the images where
the new pictures that are created
hint at a different version of reality.
In Jewish mysticism, the torah scrolls
are described as black fire on white fire
where the deeper meaning is inscribed
in the white background.
I reside in those backgrounds
roaming about in the hope that
it will become clearer what
those faces have to tell me.
Hour 10: Self-Made Golem
Be my god and mould me from your clay
I am your golem; forced to swallow your commands
I am your silent servant; I must meet your demands
Be my master and dress me in your chains
Be my subjugator and make me obey
Put your words in my mouth; I have no voice
Put the blood on my hands; I have no choice
Be my puppeteer and use me for your gains
I swallow your commands
I revile the flavour
I meet your demands
You show me no favour
Though I have no voice
A part of me is free
And now I have a choice
It’s either you or me
I move my arm
I take the pen
I scrawl a writ of liberty
I move my lips
I taste the words
Your construct I’ll no longer be
Ode to the Barnyard Artist
So, you don’t lay eggs,
those golden things,
food of the gods;
you don’t bow at my feet,
cackling joyfully,
like my speckled brown beauties;
but you sing the new day,
and keep singing until dusk,
my farmyard musician;
you flaunt your golden tail feathers,
barnyard couture;
and flap your wings and rise
in an avian ballet.
Good Dog
I never thought that I could love a dog
as much as you. Especially a bed hog
or one who likes to chew
the eyes off my Beanie Baby zoo.
I never thought I’d meet a dog
Quite as smart as you.
Let alone live with a dog
That loves me like you do.