Cloudy. Lukewarm. Grey.
With a fine sheen of soap scum
Bathtub stained and dank
Families weekly bath water
One tub a week from now on
Bathtub
Category: Today’sRiff
Conjure
As I lay sleeping
I conjure rewritten past
Makes it seem better
Gulped off the half shell of me
My rationalization
Window
I could see him
through the window
black glass rectangle
mounted on my wall
as decoded ones and zeros
delivered the gift of graft
gazintas and gazoutas
with a side order of grift
pouring into import ports
to congeal in my brain
Feast
Our time was short
A feeding frenzy
Tangible tango time
Bountiful banquet
Beautiful mess
Of food and sex
In any order
With out border
A feast for every sense
Scents we could touch
Tastes we could feel
Visions we could smell
We spent each other well
Partaking
so much delight for
the taking, yet so little
partaken today
me
1. Aurora: The sound a lion makes
2. Argument: Something to augment a supposition
3. Blessing: Opposite of messing
4. Smack: A cereal abuser
5. Embarrassment: The hills they put under railroad tracks
6. Prickle: A pickle that made poor life choices
7. Bloat: An inflatable raft
8. Coalition: A compressed energy source
9. Barrel: Run headstrong into a supposition
10. Zeal: What some folks do to their spuds and others don’t
Shadow
It didn't cast a shadow
no matter how deeply dreamt
fuzzy round the edges
light source of diffusion
found serenity in the center
twixt parted pink curtains
clutched within silken walls
slippery from delusion
became my epitaph
after the last plunge
now I don't cast a shadow
Silence
the gift of silence
switching off outrage machine
not keeping score of
politicians and pundits
lighting their farts in public
Ice
As the sun comes up,
Temperatures go down
Fueling the ice water
Coursing through my veins
Even the heat of the moment
Won't warm my cold heart
Heavy curtains over windows
May be able to keep the cold out
But at the same time let no light in
To my little world of give and take
Passion
Not sure about this passion stuff
Seems the plaything of the martyr
Running from too tough to too rough
I'll stick with good old fashion fervor
Even that may be a bit off the cuff
Perhaps I'll just have a pint of ardor
Then retire when I've had enough
On Schedule
We met in a dream.
Seems the pleasure was all mine
Where are my manners?
Now that we are both awake
Back to our scheduled nightmare
A Scroll Threw Life 