Letter Home

It's cold in the East.
The weed is very expensive.
The girls are pretty, they dress well
And act politely, lots of smiles
And Thank Yous.
Everybody looks the same.

It's been cold and rainy lately,
The storm clouds keep rolling in
To drop rain instead of snow.

Yesterday I saw the caboose of a train
As I crossed the railroad tracks
To my apartment.
It was heading West perhaps.

Love,

Growing Pains

We will lie to each other,
And then will we know pain.
We will score one another,
And matured, will we do it again.

Fiddlephany

Fear of Failure Fucks with Foundations
and Feeds a Frenzy of Finality whereby
Foolishness gets Fucked alongside Fun.

Ethics

Will my difficulty
In fabricating silence be worth
Your reminiscing my silent outline
Somedaze
When we are too old
To do anything about
It?

Desire

If I have what I want,
What more could I want
To have of you?

Desire designs itself
To please its own self.
This Faustus knew.

We eye one another
Spontaneously
Fashioning lust.

If we have eachother--
A basic engine
Desires we must

--We lose that perfection.
Who wants an emerald
Returned to dust?

No Lightbulb on the Porch

There is much to learn in a cigarette lighter,
African rhythm, Belgian chocolate and bramble-brier.
This rhyming makes no sense to me
But I'll smoke another if it's free.

This branching, and my friends all gone away
And two cigarettes remain but not to stay.
This rhyming certes puzzles me
But I'll smoke one more as sure as certainly.

These leaves are falling from the tree,
Falling, flailing sure as certainly,
They're gathering by the undead flowers
If only for one cert--uncertain hours.

This rhyming lacks integrity,
I know I'm sure, as sure as sure can be
This cigarette's done, done with burning brighter,
It leaves behind a shock--shocken lighter.

Virginia isn't Wyoming

These wooden planks smell
Like my grandmother's cabin did
In the valley where a
Glacier carved the Teton Valley
Eons ago.

The smell is like sap
Still runs down the
Cheap unvarnished boards
On a slow sloping way
To quiet snow.

Virginia isn't Wyoming though.
Grandmother isn't up
Long before I am, halfway
Done with her crossword
And preparing pancakes
And eggs and frozen sausage
And whatever other fancies
I replied when she cooed,

"What else would you like?"

She didn't call me honey,
She was the sweet one.
Nothing puzzling about her but
The crosswords she unraveled every
Fresh morning.

Grandma is gone now.
Her cabin is not her cabin anymore,
My nippy stuffed nose only
Confuses states sometimes.
It doesn't take long to remember
Virginia isn't Wyoming,
Virginia isn't when Wyoming was.