Question
I asked about her favourite song
She said, Tupelo Honey
She looked wanting with her sweet brown eyes
we talked some more
then a small kiss, like a Van Morrison song

Pants
I wear two pairs of pants
neither fits right
I got an old sweat shirt
sleeves are too long
woolly socks, itchy at the ankles; worn at the soles
I could dress better
shop at nice stores
but none of it would be my style
so I wear what pleases me

Fallen
Sleight of hand
Steady
The verse slips for the fallen man
Deceived,
Hungry,
Hands calloused to be touched, soul mended somehow
The sleight verse is the poet’s demise; the verse is the fallen man

The End
I want to be like you,
one more time
your happy youth coursing through my veins
know again a long time
Once more feel closer to love, not closer to the end

Gypsy
Some nights I'll close my eyes
I'll dream in flashbacks
Colours like autumn leaves
Embers burning in red disguise
My mind's eyes closed in constant time
The seconds, the flashbacks
momentous, small, true, coloured by dreams supplanted
Those nights my hopes lay wide, seeing what gypsy reveries bring

What Am I

I'm not surreal in speech,
nor novel in ideals
I'm just a blogger, one post churns at a time

Camera's Light
From the last picture show I leave
Alone under the night sky, stars shine like movie stars
The moon directs a man's easy walk
Each sidewalk square like an old movie frame
He moves along projected stories, silver dances with bedazzled starlets
Rides with saddled hombres, desperate men on desert horses
Sings beautiful, shoots straight on a dead end alley, dies a hero's death
The moon directs the man past the marquee of old street lights where the credits end, his story begins:
I walk the creaking steps to my turned down home, alone
Tomorrow I need the picture show
Sit in the back row, I will
See once more the screen's imagined glow