Tag Archives: fire

Chapter 2 – Seven Dreams of Death

8 Aug

Ceiling drips blood-stained secrets

Upon me

Fury rages like crematory fire

Bullet through skull

Piercing delicate brain

Pain without death

She had a bad aim

Played a worse game

Hurry! Shoot again

Before conscience comes

Before horrid shock dulls.

It was a dirty trick

Letting me live

Never knowing when she would

Pull that trigger and

Bring on the end.

Visiting my lover

Happy times I found

So close to the ground

Of my grave

I told her to shoot

Suddenly realizing he

Would never see me alive

After all this time

Rush of regret

No, don’t!

My words were slow

Like a movie of a person

With a piece of metal lodged

In her skull

Too late?

I’m gasping for dry air

Bubbles burst

The hole in my head

Bleeds red

Hair color, matted, stringy

Funny feelings

Living now

Is just not for me

Everything that happens

Simply has to be.

dogs wail untold disasters before sirens howl

15 May

NYT Best Seller

5 Apr

You read me
Cover to cover
One rainy afternoon
In February
You turned the fireplace on
Tucked in your toes
and pulled your favorite fleece
Up to your chin
Stretching the fabric taut
Over your body
On the long leather couch
You settled in
And let out a cozy sigh
Before smacking your tongue
Against the roof of your mouth
But this book is only one of a series
The whole story is far from told.
It’s the one you open
Anticipating the best.
It’s the one you close
Begrudgingly because you long for more
But you simply can’t imagine
What else lies in store.
It’s the one you wait for.
The one you pre-order
In advance of general release
Not just to beat the crowds at the store
But to be the first to know,
The first to hold the secret in your hands
And let it reveal itself
With the simple turn of a page
And it’s worth it
Every time
Though every time you wonder
How can it get better than this
And every time it is
You dare to ask for more.

It’s an adventure.
Choose your own.
Read the lines.
Come with me.

It’s a fantasy.
Yours and mine
Mine it and I’m yours.

It’s a grand escape
From reality
Where all roads
Lead to here
And now is the place
You never want to leave.

It’s pure science fiction
But the fact is
It doesn’t matter
Because it’s more real
Than the dream you had this morning
When we woke up
And it was raining
So you started a fire
Cuddled up
And began to read
An interesting story

Comfort Shared

3 Feb
Sometimes I roam

Just me and my car, a few cds

maybe a snack or two

It was a granola bar, a Fuji apple

and a bottle of water today.

I was looking for Comfort

So, I programmed my GPS

and off I set, headed west–

the direction of home.

An hour in I realized this

though I didn’t have 11 more to spare.

Still, I didn’t rest in Welfare just in case.

Just to keep the pace.

No, not tonight. Not with a birthday dinner to attend.

Not without a change of clothes, the laptop I left at home.

I was supposed to be looking for a gift,

not rationing food and planning how to wash the clothes I had on without taking
them all off at the same time.

You said my poetry was good once.

If only I could write about something more important.

I can’t think of anything more important than love

at this moment or any other.

I think about writing this poem for you as I drive

and my palms begin to thump themselves in time

to the rhythm of West Texas Teardrops and my fingers

twiddle along side them in six part harmony.

You said, “I don’t believe in true love or any of that stuff.”

I should have warned you I believe enough for both of us.

It was 52 degrees, but with the sunshine in my windshield,

the seat warmer set on two

and the automatic climate control

at my ideal temp. of 74

I was warm for the first time all morning.

I smiled at the thought of you.

I read the sign before I could see all the letters.

Welcome to Comfort–An Antique Town.

A really old town? A town full of really old junk? I settled on a town of
really old people

as I cruised at 35 down the two-lane, straight and narrow

open road for miles in both directions.

I cruised so mellow I almost passed the hand-painted sign set out by the side
of the road.

“Flea Market–OPEN TODAY” like a boot-legger lemon stand, here today

but maybe not tomorrow.

The remains of the previous flea market were blackened powder beneath my feet.

The remains

The remains



signs of decay were every where

but the men were chipper as we all took turns

gathering around the pot-belly stoves, browsing one another

and the lady smiled

when I told her that the five-dollar wooden Louisville Slugger

was a wedding present for my sister.

It’s not.

“We’re open on Sundays little lady. Please come again and see us!”

“I will!” I said with a great, big genuine smile that made me feel
shiny and pretty.

But I probably won’t. At least not tomorrow.

Comfort, TX

Comfort comes in many ways.

I also found the perfect gift and made it back in time to wrap it and wash up
for dinner.

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