Writer | Copy Editor
Straighten the collar; accept the seat,
clasped hands, dark wood, damp ink.
Master of the course,
so uncertain, so wild the eye.
Hopes for fortune and light,
but suffering in the endless black.
Behind the curtain, a quick pulse,
and fingers in curls and laces.
Wait, the harpoon’s song, and so much red —
splintering wood, rushing salt.
But take her, in buttons and breeches,
in silk and wool.
Three corners in position.
The harbor without mercy sends her son.
Whiskey over whiskey,
salty sprays.
Tiptoe the mundane,
and boots crush crabgrass.
Come into my view, my hopes,
that slow march, ranger,
and squint back the early sun.Winds rush, fall breeze — winter’s warning.
Swirl the glass, molecules stir and breathe.
Heart beats the moment; waves thrum.
Vibrate the gentle meaning of lips, sweet ghost —
but what a day where the light shines home,
dancing in the world’s glass.
Whiskey over whiskey,
red embers.
Sky’s sea,
tiny tinkling oceans,
chimes strike fresh, green, and new.Soaking earth, mud, and milky colors,
taut skin on young feet, and dripping, hopeless black.
Flesh catches and slips, wet, perfect, and blue.
Heart thunder, forest secrets,
hands and moist lips strum and hum songs.Drown me in hazy clouds; pulse pound the thunder,
and oh, the passionate bloom May has wrought.