dirt on the welcome mat

Monthly Archives: June 2011

One thin layer from the surface
Surrounded by
nd fat.
Two splinters
Lodged into a calloused skin,
Squished above bones
That would grow better without us,
We fend for ourselves.
We were the loose pieces
Chipped away accidentally,
Taken forcefully
But together.


Buttons spin

On the ceiling-

You’re feeling

A plastic dizziness,

Bleached threads

Dangle their knotted strands

Into each of your ears,

Inching slowly through

The grooves of the brain

And expanding

As your thoughts sweat,

Sending sweater fuzz

Bouncing colorful

Behind bright eyes

Until lids droop

Warm and heavy.

Stuff your speech,

Shiny wrapper and all,

Into your own mouth

And chew until your teeth

Gleam with the shreds,

Spread your options

As thin as the ones you’ve

Laid out,

Ball them up and

See if,

Squeezed between your fingers,

They relieve any stress.

Our tongues lie down

Like breeze-brushed

Hayfields in the summertime,

Dry but alive

And dancing

In their own weary way,

Each golden grain

Saying much with little

Snake-like flicks,

Sharply sentencing

The sky forever to

The cracked clay.

with honeysuckle stems

for fiddle strings

and dried pine needles

spread thick for dancin’,

deer and squirrels

and anything with wings

can meet in the middle

of the shady woods

and stop and listen

to the whistlin’ breeze

as it races

through the branches.

thread our

one strand of sun


cold metal clouds

that loop then

point needle tip

to ground.



this lone

glowing yarn

with the thimble moon

until buried beneath

thick folds

of treetop green,

it winds around

a stump spool

for stumbling fools

to discover.

Shredded paper in his spaghetti


Stamped all over the sauce.

Meatballs ground with

Bits of brown




Dessert topped

With sweet

White-out icing gloss.

Speed and silence

Are our middle names,

But our solid, round

Figures lend us our fame.

Of polite grammar

We proudly claim the peak,

And to the inquisitive mind

Never fail to speak.

We’re ordinary individuals so

For pizazz we’re grouped  in threes.

The printed page would be dull

Without us, the ellipses…


Word water balloons

At an art gallery,

You force passions

To mix and wrestle

Their liquid wills.

Your bullets burst,

Stain, and slide down

Glorified fruit,

Landscapes, and skin.

They are

Your tears

As you fend

For yourself.

The advice

You splatter paint

In my direction

Sits like graffiti

On a gravestone,

A testament to

A misplaced