Drifts on a puddle:
schooner of paper and tape,
watercolors melt.

Poetry, not prose,
warms the brain, bubbles the blood,
gilds every dark crease.

Above the tree tops
cradled in a metal bird;
don’t fall down, baby.

“We’re shaken, not stirred,”
says the gin to the vermouth.
Olive just feels stuffed.

(I apologize.)

This happy bistro
decked in crime scene tape and chalk,
spattered blood or wine.

Which one shall I choose?
I’ll be swan, you Gulliver.
Remember my wings?

An ocean of flesh-
velvet green and fin and bone,
shells beneath my feet.

Wild dragon in flight;
domesticated dragon
stays home, simmers stew.

“Please add some water…”
Swirls of gold and tangerine
accent uncoiled fronds.

Bursting births new song:
brittle ivory crystals,
Mozart lifts his beak.

Each part ensorcelled:
powdered sugar ledge, teal sky,
measureless abyss.

Sweetly scented grass:
alchemy for memories
on my father’s knee.

A pawn in her eyes,
he tripped on her libretto,
they spilled in his robes.

Feathers rained for days.
The rivers belched blood on land
while unshut eyes burned.

She raised her glass high,
watched the light’s hypnotic dance,
fought the bitter kiss.

Take me on your flight,
wrists lashed to your gypsy beard
over Everest.

Taste to touch – too much
wasabi on your fingers;
bathe my skin in milk.

Nightmares and death wait
while before-sleep-thoughts scatter
on my cut-glass bed.

Mariana trench:
What to find in your dark bones?
Afraid of the deep.

Still beneath the waves:
my brass heart, unrecovered.
Listen for the notes.

Until you awake,
you are president, scholar;
you are a hero.

Written just for you-
a bagful of sugar hearts,
Luv U 4 ever.

Fairy kings and dreams…
Would I wake a little girl,
if I just believed?

Extravaganza:
the hush of red silk midair.
Watch the woman walk.

Seems ridiculous:
decorations on the beach,
singing White Christmas.

A smile and a laugh:
My son hides his bulging cheeks,
feeling so not cool.

Into the night’s ear
pour nectar truths or falsehoods.
Turn over your cards.

Buzzing, whirring saw
hungry for hickory meal.
Whose cold floor is it?

Winter forest gloom:
Naked branches beg cover,
Snow Queen picks her pawn.

The stars might hear me;
My brilliant scintillations
firm on earthbound feet.

Would I glimpse beacons
wandering unknown waters?
Beyond here there be…

Sleep, at last, conquers
blind, broken anxieties.
What would Sigmund say?

All just blood and bones,
scattered, spattered on the floor.
Ring the dinner bell!

He thinks he’s fishing,
but the worm is off the hook,
learning how to swim.

You should chase the moon,
and when you catch it, sit down.
Swiss, Cheddar or Brie?

The rent was worth it,
’cause the cat couldn’t find him-
though the woman could.

It was not a dream:
upright white flash, blood, our oath,
blink, and you were gone.

I am awaiting
green shoots, tumble-down droplets,
maple sugar tongue.

Till breath, at last, ends,
the fallen tree will make sound
in the dark, dark woods.

Creeping through the night,
steel spirits slither and slide,
like so many snakes.

Looks up in dismay,
as sun melts the ice queen and
crown drips in her eyes.

Be my god of love,
and I, Caer, will be your swan;
feel my downy white.

Swan singing sonnet-
three quatrains about love’s death.
Master Shakespeare nods.

Past islands of thought
sink, like Atlantis, leaving
naught but salted truth.

Whisked off in terror-
seven half-beaten egg whites,
last seen in the hall.

Earth, most wantonly,
wraps itself around the sea,
cradling each drop.

The measure of grief:
how great your need for the dark,
how heavy your limbs.

Doodling daydreams
won’t shut down; my mind buzzes,
awash in honey.