starting hand

starting hand

sometimes maligned,
I will take AA in my
pocket every time.

nycrostic 2

nycrostic 2

My, your
ambrosia offerings
go down so well,
no need for milk;
only dilemma,
lick frosting
initially, cake first, or
advance on both immediately.

breakfast for grownups

breakfast for grownups

no bread
in the house, so
maybe i will drizzle some
honey on my finger, then lick
the spoon.

not in stockholm...

not in stockholm

just because you're
on another continent,
away from us you are not.
not oceans,
not hours time difference
apart.

singing love,
awaiting
rapidly updated blog
and reminding you that
home is simply where you take us.

(for the best woman ever)

on arrival

on arrival

it is cold in bed
when you are not preheating
blankets to perfect.



(welcome home, knucklehead)

injury time: parker place

parker place

this thoroughfare
may seem like another
street
to you,
but my heart sings
impossible riffs
over gershwin tunes
every time i'm on it.
a street
where even parking here
get me dizzy,
blessed by truck driver monks
and birds
that never stop singing,
never fly south for the winter,
never stop spectacles
that leave my body clamoring for more,
never stop making new songs
of things you think you've heard before,
or
creating original moments
in places you've just arrived.

This is Bird's street.
and I'm going to make music
every time I'm there.

surefire signs I just played my saxophone

surefire signs I just played my saxophone

1
ears, rapt attention,
yearn for hot breath to linger,
melody's return

2
happy
blood metronome
playing tight beats through veins
and arteries, so my body
can dance.

3
my fingers tingle,
jittery, moving like they
do not want to stop.

4
songs are
fighting with one
another to remain
inside my head for a little
longer.

5
i replay riffs in
my mind, recall best moments
and reside in them.

6
the ridge
on my bottom
lip is my favorite
reminder. my tongue lingers.
i smile.

injury time: nycrostic 1

New feature. Combining my loves of acrostic and my favorite spots in the city.

true, the
hot chocolate is
ecstasy,
clinging to every
individual
taste bud for
years, it seems
Bliss is
available,
kissing its way through
esophagus,
rolling, ever slowly, though
your soul.

(hey new york: you've got 6 days of their hot chocolate festival left. check it out!)

anticipation: 5

anticipation: 5

the windows
become tvs
without bunny ears.
i'm smaller,
and the world
is huge,
carpeted in white,
and just waiting
for me
to leave
footprints.

so eager
to find
angels
on the ground
and candy
falling from the sky.

i remember
knocking on the door
to pull you out to play.
I wonder
how different it is from before
but hope to see it someday.

tv windows
are on the fritz.
i smile
and already
feel red cheeks
and
taste
hot cocoa.

injury time: haiku for backbeat

haiku for backbeat

hey, what time is it?
strange, because, you know, i
always know the time.