Verse

Well, I wasn't going to post this here, but here it is anyway. I used to write poetry all the time ( like dirty, commie, hippies are supposed to ) and it's been years since I even tried.

Not sure what to title this ----

How does one contain a fire
with a vine leaf?
You can watch
The flickering orange of midday
Swirl into her hair
Dipping back
And resting on her bruised shoulder.


Her breath
Tinged with whiskey and promises of the past
Closes the distance
Of time and town.
A meandering stretch of asphalt
Devilgrass
And carriage houses
Marks the path to her doorstep.

The murmur of a restless child
Waking
From distant dreams of a touch
Soft voice
An embrace
Drags you back home
To your new room
Still filled with memories
In boxes.