The smoke and the fire,

sparse,

dotting the horizon.

All these years

between our meeting,

loving and tangle,

our bid’s adieux.

Slowly our love’s tendrils’

climb,

not unlike smoldering coals’

flare under ash;

against time the maze

runs tight circuits

along cool surface ambivalence

and hidden oceans

shy to admit

our flickering light inside.

Greaser poem

your chalk dust

gathered on quarter sawn

planks.

I’ll see your rustle

the swift blade and spilled soda

pop,

remembering that fear we shared;

death.

Dreams,

all them tunnels

burrow down

into chasms;

under constant scour, pruned

between honed flanks

the scouting hordes

lash tentacles

through bait-balled peasantry the husbands’ dire

sprung out, rendered

madness

and caught in the thicket’s latch.