electric fine Odin's Day.

my pretty window pretty pane
plane of glass, windowflame
war of words & wordsmith games
whose to know what who's the same
sure enough, fine wood grain

strain to see right though the sheets of rain
barrel down, tall crop-lined rows
Silos, Mills, Watertowers, live stock
floating in & out of farm to market fame

a bridge too far
a lake, dammed & swam
in rock pool coves
and trail side dives

into the creek
into the row
a slender fleet of dancers, coy & cool
to touch on her one weird weakness
The coiled dancers sang.

too cool to roll
& rolling wood ways
my sunset, she prances like a fire ballerina
feast of reds & golds on the sky, it stretches
from here unto forever, immaculate dawn

& a day to finally remember.

Spring Forward, Fall Back Redux

Rolling as it were, day by day, towards who knows where, but always at UPS, either on the road or in the tower, managing the flow control.

A whole world unto itself, there. Egos, know-it-alls, tempers abound. Everyday a relentless quest to get it down. Down on time. Wrapped. By driver start time.

The book: Who Knows? Seems like a whole lot of people just don't care. The ones that do, grab on and go for the ride. Those are the ones to do it for.

So much more, I want to do. Yet, each is like I look at my life as this dwindling supply of days, in which I can express this idea, do this thing.

I have a blog and hardly update. Why. Nobody reads it. Oh, some do. I see, an occasional visitor evidenced by a strange I.P. and a longer 0.00 stay.

So anyway, thanks for coming. Have your say.

roll into a blue day, new day
way to skip and fascinate rhyme
find words in focus & nickles and dimes
and dandy fine rainbow stroking prism'd ribboned glacier night

the soothing smooth sleek glass neon dylan heads shine fire into the smokey jazzy bars in liquid nights.

who walks here in rain gear
walks & takes the chance, romance the shoe shine gypsy looking cradle robbing concubine from hell another planet yet to be
these song she says she sings to me
to me you often catch the fate
of all the prisoners in your face

the night
it howls
all as one
and who the finest of them all he's all the rage
and he's the reason for the war you rage
and all the seasons turn the page
I can't hear you, can't be done
with you I'm not not anyone

and who hears what she grips his face
and tries to turn that fateful page
and all the manner all the stares
of millions crimson gathering there
in hushed hues & soft spoken cries

the flames they leap and lap the bride
nestled in her red widows gown
and all the people of the town
have come to taste her poison & gait

who strives among us
coins are tossed
games are won & games are lost
and who is it that sits you there and
acts as though they really care

and open up the dream this wide
a fantastic freak of vision, fashion flare
into Dylan's word garden flowing derision

on all the feasts and cadences
and all the planes and cages
and backroom deals
fights in the square
gentlemen from better parts of town
come down just to have a look around.

idle strangers standing there.
car cruises bye mirrored hair
smokelet, ringlets, starlet, tear
her ripped blouse
flowing mouth & eyes soft gentle stare

and breasts of night, and sweet sweet light
forever in her studied care

night rolls on
the cars they bowl
for pretzels, pizza, parties all the more
on the riverwalk
or at the fair
Circus animals, frogs & lairs
of crazy critter stream
fenced and gloat

the milk of Jersey cow, she fills the moat
of the castle of the hill, where the kings he roars
and writes his life in pages from his horrors he compiles
titles of time, and tortured styles.

this he said to her weaving groaned
played the hammond organ and then intoned
I must see you here
Naked as white dust doves & steamy smoke debris.

they cannot chase us here, find us there, on the cusp, breaking into, breaking bread
breaking into heaven, finding you instead.
find myself a way to wrestle demons shouting doubts and dread
in my ancient splitting head.