Art of Love - Houdini's Lock

songs from the 60s
sing thoughts
when music lived
sounds like 'Pretty Woman'
and 'One Is The Loneliest . . . '

i turn to see who enters

the door needs grease
it creaks awfully

she enters and then pulls at me
it takes a stiff tug
to expose truth

it all happens
when the numbers
turning rightfully
tug and turn together
to evolve into something
unlocked

Power of Love - Monster

today i got my stuff
all the things she took
that did not matter
to anyone but me

i put it on my shelves
cluttered mastrpieces

 of me

this is not the best
day
to think anything but her


alone in skyscrapers
of melodic
misery

i keep seeing
windows offering reflections,
mind blowing high places
searching

this is not the best
day
to think anything but her

Power of Love - Beauty

she was standing
             in the rain
unaffected
             and quite plain
she was a simple
              complex thing
she was a
               dream
               perfect
dancing in soft rain
or even walking
alone
she was a celebration
of life

but alone is one
and one is so alone
especially beauty

making it precious

A Thought of God

if god wrote
a perfect poem
it would have no rhyme
because perfect comes
only once from nothing

god never wrote
a perfect poem
because
nothing comes from perfect,
and god knows everything
he did not do

with love

Art of Love -- Liberty

my cravings ranted
to themselves
all within my head
they were reflections
endless ones

like mirrors looking at mirrors
of loss that no one can regain,


not queens so powerful
that god's intervene
as was Dido

she lost all

best to run from ransacks
and Love is all of that

but draws juices
throbbing Lust
boiling blood
lighting thoughts
                     obscuring reason

a trouble deep within us All
walks here

i am sure it is Liberty

Art of Love -- the supermarket

it was a pass
something moving
through something
on a Wednesday
when i saw her

someone in the egg department
could not decide
on the obvious

so we waited,
then
i wanted all
her time

all my
detaining on a Sunday morning
in a southern superstore

in a modern market

was all about waiting for her
maybe showing
probably not

One Hundred Degrees of Snow-Capped Rockies

i've been in some
lonely space
on the other side
of the universe

and it always seemed
best
to travel far away

for all of this i would give
everything
to make it snow again


as long as it was a field
near home
where one could feel alone

eat a hot dog
prepared by the best

sit alone in prairie straw

i am

seeking the crashing sun
its fall
relentless in her beauty
 
for all of this i would give
everything
to make it snow again