Polaroid Reckoning A flat tire a broken-down sink crashing glass screaming sirens racing flames frame trailing frame of heat and dark colors of what could have been. Blowing smudges tinged in promise, pomp and circumstance long gone. A blink, an eye, filled with mere seconds that blend. Yet, the snap of the wrist delivers darkness again. Still, she walks in patience along the wilted washed out brush where an image blurred in ember will soon tease a rosy flush. And when the pi

The quest for less baggage Seems all wrapped up in a neat tiny box, not a gift. Still nice, but tied up real tight Only does it hold up to the tulle and the tussle of cool, vacant sheets The layers and folds and creases that told of pain and misunderstanding, Or bittersweet words that linger with time Like layers of buttercream Artificially sweet. It came off at once. This veil of complexity all sheer and white, The iridescent taste of raw silk bunched up then spread stiff in

I ransack the closet of my childhood nightly in REM, then half stages of a full-on sweaty sleep. Swipe left, then right yank around throw over and down the stairs to the gravel kick across the curb, up an alley towards a beat up, wonky sideways street. What is bared and ripped and torn open is left to shrivel and dry like a garbage can of week old leafy greens reeking with tepid anger. I rifle through drawers of ungrateful, shoe racks stacked with fake wooden three-inch heels

She was supposed to come home (with a giggle) and a flush from pluff mud piled high with various sorts of sunny stuff, the makings of one’s own disposition. (Juggling) grocery sacks spilling with odds and ends of a life well-lived and a half-dozen waxy lemons. (Dangling) upon her wrist so slight would ride a plastic bag crowded with clusters of ice and a quarter of rough-hewn oysters. We’d have beer with dinner. Maybe wine? “What pairs better, my dear, with the soft filtered