Poetry

Dancing in Utopia

Back and forth, this rocking chair

has one leg in the past,

dancing in utopia

of days that didn’t last.

One leg still remains right here

but it presents the now

which looks above and ahead

the sweat upon the brow.

Now, I can’t tell the future

but I can tell you this,

work or rocking chairs or dance–

with you it’s always bliss.

Poetry

Fast Songs

Slow song,

fast heartbeats,

a slow burn into a wildfire–

wasted whiskey to feed either vice

but thrown to the wind instead.

Was it love? Was it not?

Now flowers laid waste–

their petals fall,

fingertips from shaky hands

pulling them off

as if the flower knew

some answers.

What answers?

Who knew?

We didn’t.

Fast songs played us out.