dirt on the welcome mat

Monthly Archives: February 2011

We shift to sleep,

Downward like gears in a car,

Kettle bells an extension of our arms,

Elevator arrow down,

No lullabies just sighs to snores

To sunlight in the morning.

One plastic red cup
Anchored down with water weight
Was our sun as we orbited
The splintered picnic table.

Dipping long paintbrushes
Into our pond water paint,
We like cavemen drew
Crude designs on rock canvases.

More smooth brown stones
In a basket of rusted wire
Waited to be turned miraculously
Into the object of our appetites

Some might say
Our soggy paintbrush strokes
Dragged across dirty stones
Vanished with the summer breeze,

But my fingertips absorbed each drop
Just before they blew away
And now, racing in streaks up my arms,
The droplets display their color.



Cover the mind’s

Cracked concrete slab

With laughter streaks of

Sidewalk chalk.

Fill the silence

With shuffles of

Hopscotch feet,

And when you

Start to rain inside,

Let the colors

Wash away.

But clutch the

Chipped chalk nub

So you can

Create again.

You are
The warm puddle water that
Over the top
Of my rainy day boots,
Slip-dripping down,
Penetrating my socks
Until their sogginess
With each step. 


She exhales helium,

Inflating my crinkled cellophane heart

With her high-pitched

Smiled syllables

Until I float away

Like a Valentines’ Day balloon.

No love letter

To peruse,

So latitude and longitude

Are skimmed for

Lines to read between.

Each piece of chocolate

Is unwrapped with the

Expectation of a treasure map

Printed on the underside

Of the shiny red foil,

X marks the spot.


Between complaints
And strong opinions
You tell me


Freedom of speech
Means we all can play
Dictionary roulette.

No one
A single

So use them all,
The brain’s a scrabble board,
And no one’s keeping score.

You are
So sure
But still
You speak.

If language is so meaningless,
I wish you would not
Use it at all.