the kisses goodbye

We taste like lakes of
writhing snakes
- cool washcloth,
on tormented heat -
a kiss that never ends,
that lingers on in mind
through days and weeks
All our sour goodbye kisses
holding on and latching on
final lungfuls underwater
desperate interlocking lunge
"do we really have to go?
will this be the last we see?"
- a kiss that never ends, until
it drags us back, to
endlessly

The Back of a Stranger's Head

You smile brightly as you catch
a glimpse of the face of a friend
but two steps closer, you see that it's only
the back of a stranger's head.
It's strange how the back of a stranger's head
can trick you like that - it's the early sun,
bright morning magic, casting blurs across your eyes -
that's what it does. When the back of a stranger's head,
distorted as by alchemy, becomes
the kind face of a friend.
And you smile.
But watch it!
That's the kind of friend you can't trust!

Put It In Writing

Attention All Company: Effective immediately,
this policy replaces all previous policy
on the topic of whatever is relevant.
All previous understandings; written, oral,
verbal or anal, are now null void and overturned.
If you have any questions, please contact the person
previously identified in the formerly effective policy
as your contact, and make known to him or her
your concerns. He
or she
will be certain to refer you to this memo
for further clarification. That is all. That is all.
That is all. That is all.

That is all.

Ode to Boont Amber Ale

Thy barely-sweet and slightly-nutty flavor,
thine angelic finish and voluptuous body -
with a bold swish of your bottle's hips,
I pour your virtues into a slanted glass - careful!
Lest you overflow the rim with your prodigious head.
O! Ye amber waves, sloshing frothily in my pint glass
'blazoned with the proud Boonville Beer,
How sweetly I sing your praises! In such a tuneful voice
that all who try a taste join in.

The Sea-Bird by Geholmes Watchfop Thacklevoy

The Sea-Bird

- by Geholmes Watchfop Thacklevoy -

I saw a mighty sea-bird hover,
wings athwart, above a choppy river-mouth
that empties to the Bay.
She labored lightly, leaning into
headwind, shaking wings akimbo
barely flapping, course correcting,
one foot over copper waters.

Making slow but forward progress
all unsteady, shaking pinions
barely just aloft, but gliding
ever forward, yard by yard.
Suddenly, mid-air she stumbled,
tottered as the wind from under
failed her - her with only inches
'twixt her and the waves beneath.

Up they slapped, to catch and gather
her ungainly, graceless flapping,
floating now, and looking 'round to see
if any witness saw. I will never tell -
my lovely sea-bird: please consider
your indignity a confidence
between us that I vow to keep

as I make my way on forward
slowly, leaning into headwind
ever forward, yard by yard
catastrophe an inch beneath