When one is fully saturated, better some one squeezes

Never seen anything as hungry as a dog
Will grovel lonely at your feet
Til you either throw him out
Or give him food to eat

He’ll tap and tap down at your feet
Stabbing each and every toe
You’ll push against his soaking mane
Begging him to go

Reaching up to catch your ear
He’s screeching out a howl
You finally throw a bone his way
And hear not another growl

i breathe
one breath at a time
each inhalation linked to the exhalation before it
yet every breath stands alone
there's something tenuous about it
this soft machine is on thin ice
devoured by time in innocent increments
like a moth nibbles away wool

my heart
little gorilla
wearing itself out
rubber glove with a hole in it
weird luck

my eyes are bright
solar blue ball lanterns

if you saw me
you would say
good bones
river of envy

The snow on these sentinel trees
melts slowly then drops to below
though tonight it will all refreeze
when the frigid north winds blow.

One drop well aimed goes down my neck
as I slowly walk through winter woods
listening to woodpecker's peck
where a long pine's shadow broods.

White barely blankets duffy ground
yet it muffles each foot fall
so almost silent I make my round
while up ahead jays fuss and call.

There's just something about a first love that creates such profound emotions in us that we are indelibly marked by our experiences with the person who manages to steal our heart for the very first time. In fact, the memories of that special person seem to never fade. The first time we held hands, the first kiss, these are moments that are marked by an innocence and a timid sweetness that is unique to first loves and, quite honestly, difficult to describe in words. That first love, for a lucky few, may even create a bond strong enough to last forever.

I like my drink on the rocks
with fizz of soda bubbling it to life
I keep on stirring to keep it alive
taking one sip at a time to prolong_

The ice kept melting in seconds and minutes
letting me know it's countdown time,
so I charged my drink to keep it rocking
with more of fizz bubbling to the top.

The waiter in the bar asked "One more Sir?"
I declined his offer and commenced to stir
because by now I was held in awe
that I love the fizz more than the drink,
for the way it hit my nostrils.

Brittle shells --
worn down to the holes
deserted homes,
their owners reborn as gulls.
Or maybe one of those
soft boneless bodies that are gone
was mine.
I can imagine being a mollusk
--sweet and salty glistening muscle.

I walk along the shore line,
look at the sun
through the green glass
broken a few years ago,
sharp corners
smoothened out by time.

the poem started with the word
the
it wasn't a good
the;
it didn't sit on the page right
like a head with a bad perm
another poem started with the word
the

the the
had so much integrity;
it floated on the page like a sun drenched cathedral

i can only surmise the magic of a poem has in it the ineffable soul
of the writer
are the good writers nonchalant
talent dripping
or are they secretly fucking
their the's

It's not a Rubik of six by nine,
some believe it's coded on a line.
It's more like a jigsaw with umpteen pieces,
for folks to figure out it's puzzling faces.

Where to begin is like toss of a coin,
not everyone though gets it fine.
Some give up playing, early in the game
others keep trying, not easy to tame.

No one does have a magic band,
there's nothing here, like the sleight of hand.
It's all about fixing pieces right,
though some are crooked, some with straight side