Ode to the Rollin’

It’s never quite and always almost
the glass half and that other grass
like Mick I
just can’t get no
perspective on
the relativity of satisfaction
like Mick I’m
always almost taking it
never quite by the tongue
I’ve got the moves
like Mick but not the swagger
like a stone
I’m just too heavy
to roll.

Those girls I knew once…

those girls I knew once
they walked in shoes
they flip-flopped
and danced
they drank
and laughed
and rescued each other
whether rescue was something they wanted
or not

those girls I knew once
cried together too
for each other
for love
for estrangement
for too much of each other
and not enough

those girls I knew once
floated and lolled about
on Sundays
under palm trees
eating drunken spaghetti
and washing it down with
whatever that was
talking about inappropriate
whatever that was
she could do things
and that’s what mattered

hey remember
that mattered too
especially when you do it

those girls I knew once
had something or other to do with
or not
with bartenders
or not
with shots
and shots
and shots
or water

those girls I knew once
could have had a group discount on
some serious
counseling, man
but we only ever finally went
one by one
we were each other’s
when I knew those girls once

I’m all better now
but I still flip-flop
and dance
I want to know those girls

Terra not so Firma

clouds beneath my feet
turn into starlight
and I am floating
just now
floating off into places
and heights only whispered about before
to me
in my dreamiest

tonight I danced
on my tippy toes
with my fiance
my dream boat ridiculous fiance
six foot plus
blue eyed
that hugh grant accent thing he’s had since birth
and those blue eyes aren’t just blue
they are magical
seeing only the best
always the best
in me
impossible I thought
but now I know
he’s true
and I’m a believer

oh this again

oh this again
thank god
we keep going going going
and then we come back to
this again
this you always
and I never stuff
this why can’t you
and why don’t I
it’s all so familiar
thank god
it’s this again
but I don’t want to do this again
with anyone ever again
that is
with anyone other than

Here Is Neither

When I say
I am here
for you
My here is neither
nor there

I know that I am truly
when here is neither
One there being
and the other there

For even when I am
“over here”
I am indicating a without place
and the indicating originates
from within

It is only
that solitary
eternal moment
of being
only when here transforms my withins to withouts
that unbounded
all-encompassing without enclosing
of transformation in simultaneous stillness
the being and the becoming at once
is my hereness
perfectly neither.

The Falling Night

The branches and their leaves, the hillside that sits behind our house, and telephone poles have turned into black construction paper cutouts against a faded blue-gray sky. White glittering pinpoints twinkle from white to brighter white. In the dusky blue above, some stars twinkle from white to green to red and become airplanes making their slow motion meteoric fall toward the quiet ground. Everything is black or grey, save the tan bamboo growing along the still whitish fence that guards our grassy heaven and home. Everything has lost it’s hue and only shades of muted blacks and whites and sky grays remain. Those colorful crickets though… they are singing to the night in a purple, pink, and orange melody.

Fall upon me, Night.

Dawn upon me, Light.

Boots, Boxes, and the Lovey Dovey


Earlier today, while going through boxes in the garage, I came across a boot-sized box, inscribed with the word “Ugg”. I opened the box.

“Ugh”, I said.

Sure enough, there were the fat fuzzy boots. But why were they in this box? This wasn’t a boot box, not anymore. Last year, I had taken them out of the box, and they had lived in the bottom of my old closet with all my other boots, sneakers, flip-flops, and pumps.

No, this was not a boot box. This was a treasure chest. If this relationship were any other relationship, this box would be the “Burn Box” for when we broke up. But no, this box is where you put all the things you don’t ever want to forget. This is where, again, if this were any other relationship, you would put the things you never want to remember, along with a well-tortured voodoo dreadlock havin’ rag-man-doll, before you do a full moon chant and torch that mofo with all his lame so-called-love tokens! This is serious business, this box.

This is not a boot box. But still, there they were. Right on top of our precious unforgettable treasures. There were cards, letters, love notes, napkins, wine corks, and gift wrap, ribbons and even the gift bags for all the presents my sweet, sweet Squeezy had given to me. This box was holding LOVE. And Uggs.

I chose this big fat boot box because it was the biggest little box I had at the time, and even though it was big enough for fat fuzzy winter boots, it still wouldn’t be big enough to hold all of the lovey dovey tokens yet to come, no way! This was box #1 of… who frikken knows? Me and my Squeezy have a long row to hoe before the sun sets on this story. That’s a lot of wine corks and love notes and… plowing. That’s a lot of boxes. And a lot of love.

And a whole lot of why are there boots in here too?

Why? Because, when I moved in with him, Squeezy volunteered to pack up my closet. He popped the lid off the Uggs box, saw there was still room, chucked the boots in and wallah(!) he’s helpful.

Go Squeezy…

Ladies, it just goes to show, there is no room for man’s “logic” where boxes of romance are concerned. Unlike Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups, “you got your logic in my love box” will not turn into your favorite way to keep PMS at bay. It may only lead to confused blogging and dusting boot-prints off envelopes, love notes, and wine corks.

Say, what’s with all the wine corks?

Everybody knows there’s nothing like a little grape juice to grease the plow!