I pattered to and fro
Seemingly aimlessly disturbed as I go
But I with the plan
With goals laid upon
Accepting at my feet
I would let you in
To my dashing little plan
Should you reach out and shout
Not on this Thursday, though
To busy in your mind
You washed out my truths
Delayed with confusion
Please, I ask let me go now
I’ll set forth from here
Alone with my bushel
Onwards on my journey
I heard you ever there
Calling loudly
Innocence curling off your lips
And building into frustration
It wasn’t my desire to push you thus far
Your demise denied it evermore
It is beautiful, your waltzes
That have stars spinning on their toes
They catch my breath in sweet meditation
While the ground parts dirt for each step
Legs glistening in moonlight
With ripples of motion and sensual glances
I hear wind whispering kisses in my ear
The same shouted loud from your eyes
I glide to the rhythm of the night
Waltzing along in the shadow of your breath
Clapping my Italian leather heels to your beat
Sending echoes down the lamp-lit street
Off into muffled sounds of laughter
Looking out this plain, water stained window
The night prepares to share it’s darkness
Street lights flick on, awaking evening
Full of buttoned up, hand warming peacoats
Clip-cloping evening shoes dance along ordinary pavement
Where uneven walking paths skirt between neighbouring brownstones
And evergreen shrubs drip with saturation
It’s too bad on evenings like this
With air biting away at exposed skin
That stars don’t shine through overhead clouds
Instead, softening edges and colours into grays
Boutique doors close for the morrows awakening
Freshening vapor
Spray drive-by
Dark clouds
Passion fuels eyes of short haired misfit women
Beautiful woman with desire and reason
Eager looks, united causes, dim lights with red highlights
But way to fucking scared to sit with a man
I, the lonely soldier, with space pants filling my eyes
I, the unlucky winner in a queer bingo show
No worries here though, I’ve got my cameo coming up
Two dames on each arm riding with a free pass for the night
Loud cackling and turned backs with those fucking hip beanies
Plaid 90s South Central styles and dirty looks
Still, I find eyes here
Looks from curious patrons
Turns out not everybody needs to pick a side
We all switch hit from time to time
The dark pitter-patter watering the ground
Next to the paper bag I sit on
Gives me that Hank III slow train blues
Rhythmically eating away conscious lobes of my brain
Reminding me how often I’ve felt this way before
Stuffed down a hole by my own negligence
Lacking attention to details
Uncommitted hippy attitude to all things present
I’ve put myself here
Wet paper bag singing it’s soul to my lonely hooker’s mind
Sometimes we all get an urge to howl at the moon
Do you have a twin sister?
Because if you say you don’t know me
I’m certain we’ve met once before…
It was raining, and cold
I was walking home with one hand in my pocket
The other was carrying a yellow plastic bag
With my tall book tucked away neatly inside
I looked at your car there
Shining and black
It was a rare automobile
And I commented on that
You waved your hair, eyes glared at me
A look that would leave most men cowering
Me? Nah. It didn’t fool me
We were good friends in a previous life
That’s how I knew we’d met again
Long forgotten hide-and-seek game
We found each other again, didn’t we?
Did you get that same feeling?
Little butterflies in your stomach
Knees that started to shake
And breath that came in short wisps?
I sure did, not because of the look
It was the memories that flooded back
Years had passed in searching
Where only a calendar could tell what we’d lost
I felt your heart flutter
In spite of your cool demeanor
That’s why I never looked back
When you told me to get in that
Rare black automobile
That’s why it hurt me so much
When you drove that car away
Take care not to hang my good shirts up on the wire
With the crease cutting the top half from the bottom
The way you leave it out on the line all day
One half gets sun-bleached, and that don’t ever go away
This bothers me when I’m trying to be professional
Giving off an air of respectability
A man has got to uphold certain fashion statements after all
If he wants to indeed be called a man
You can understand this simple request, right mom?
This isn’t to much to ask is it?
Swelling foot
Straight back
Dotted lines