Version 1

This is the one that arrives late at night
Nobody reads it
It doesn't feel right

Today

When the sun begins
Turning the sky

Mountains way over there
Black as the night

Deep in my mug of
Waking coffee

I'll blink back the night
Seep down

Into my mug
Sink right down

I'll wait for the gray sound of doves
Singing the sun alive

I'll wait for the sun to crawl
Over my windowsill

Pour liquid new light
Over my unmade bed

(c) 2008

The Office

Deep in the fluorescent forest
Where nary a spider can hide
I plug into the workload
Money to be typed

The air is thick
With ticking and tapping
The receptionist
Would rather be napping

Like IVs sucking it straight
From our veins
We hook up to telephones
Headphones and
Screens

Where are the clouds
And the leaves underfoot?
We are covered in paper
And mousepad soot

Wake up now!
Look lively
Hoofed bosses
Make rounds

I'm under your thumb
And
I don't make
A sound

(c) 2008

Monday Morning

Chasing down the freeway
Music soaking my brain
From both sides
Chasing down two tiny canals

Watching the traffic weave
Following my own thread
Between two lines
Watching the world blur by

Breathing deep before the gray
Green cloud of the city closes over
That last long hill before the city
Breathing in sunlight and sky

(c) 2008

Paper

My right hand
Tight against you

My thoughts
Press my eyes
Down on you

So blankly staring back at me

Push the ink down into you
Soaking through to the one
Behind you

So many of you waiting
With your ashen faces

(c) 2008

Cake

I'd like to bake an idea
Two raw thoughts
Sift in some wisdom
Sweeten the deal
With laughter
And stir

Bake that idea
Warm it through
Until the toothpick
Comes out
Clean

Ice the idea
Like wrapping a present
In silky whipped frosting

The idea is ready
Share some with me
Grab a fork

We're going to taste it
Let it melt over and under
Our tongues

We are going to
Have my idea
And eat it
Too

(c) 2008

In the Late Hours

Late at night
Computer light
Music like tin kettles
In a rainstorm

The reflection
Of me on the inside
Of the windows
There is no rainstorm

Dust is sifting
Squeezing under
I'm dreaming
Of a rainstorm

Clouds floating over
My mind is full of them
Bring the smell of wet
Or a rainstorm.

(c) 2008