For autumn
Nothing Gold stays and everything Green goes with it.
Dusk Orange paints the silhouette yawn
Of a Great Blue Heron atop a rock the drought announced.
Sailboats float the Indigo under a Great Orange Blue sky,
Slide the serene by the Great Grey Bluebird.
Autumn wears an Every-Color shawl starved for Green- envious of Blue.
She fires Orange at the sky, the heron, the slow Blue bottomed boats.
But Indigo eats even Autumn- though she spends her fire fast.
Nights come quick now. Nothing lasts faster now.
I should take a picture.
But what good are words if the world is only contour lines full of color?
What good is color without words to celebrate each hue? …
Pixel poets: This is for You.
Pixel poets,
The well will never go dry.
The pen will -break- for sure,
But the well; we’ll never go dry.
Keep it going
This is for You.
I wrote this for You.
For You, for You, for You
This is all for You,
You for all, in all ways
You.
Bodhisattva Billy rides to work.
You don’t know Billy. He’s vulgar. He’s sacred.
Either one of those offends you. Change tabs.
Curbside Monday Morning, outside Billy’s apartment complex engine idle, our carpool of two to work. Billy’s always one minute early or one minute late.
Today it’s two minutes late.
The passenger door opens. Billy’s aluminum travel mug of Folgers instant still steaming. Both our eyes go to the cup holder.
Billy: F’in A Jay. Brown Bagging it today? Saving up for something?
I put the crumpled craft paper lunch bag on the backseat. Billy takes the cup holder.
Billy: Times are tough. They always are. Me? If I want a f’in cheesesteak from Ruthie’s, I’m getting it. It’s your life, J. …
