Never really left
home base
that untouchable,
unforgiving place
all at once safe,
yet broken
the pieces never
quite fit
like they did
at first spark, but
I keep trying to put
them back together
Never really left
home base
that untouchable,
unforgiving place
all at once safe,
yet broken
the pieces never
quite fit
like they did
at first spark, but
I keep trying to put
them back together
Sitting in a dark room
thinking,
just a fragment
of a feeling
pillar candle melting
slowly,
only human,
what a joke,
just a fragment
rough with edges,
jagged edges
scratching deep
jagged picture
heavy breathing,
inhale deeply,
empty clinking.
Everything old is new again
like water on the moon,
been bound to the ground
since who knows when,
but we’ll be lifting off soon.

Evan shows off his toes,
cooing “Weee, weee, weeeee,”
and his button nose with a
“Honnnnnnnnnnnnk!”
When a plane flies by
he points to the sky
and loudly says “Yeah!”
Only 18 months, and he already
dreams of reaching for the stars.
Mommy points to the fish,
he answers “ish.”
Daddy puts on The Beatles,
he sings, “luhv, luhv, luhv.”
“Where’s Evan’s belly?” ask mom and dad,
and Evan quickly lifts his shirt.
“Where’s Evan’s hair?“
He proudly raises his
tiny hand to his golden curls.
A dimple forms on his grinning face.
Then mom decides to mix it up,
as she asks, “Where’s daddy’s hair?”
This one’s a trick question.
Daddy has no hair.
There’s a gleam in Evan’s eye
as he searches his small,
but growing vocabulary.
He touches daddy’s smooth,
round head with his
outspread hand, and
clear as day, declares “Ball!”

Second guesses are
the air we breathe, polluted
with doubts, guilt,
uncertainty.
How do you trust your
instincts when you
can barely trust those
around you? When trust is
no more than
a passing breeze that
shakes your soul as it
rattles the trees?
Sexy Donut Day* is dedicated to the doughnut lovers of the world. Smooooooch!
In honor of Sexy Donut Day, I have awarded the newly created Sexy Donut Award to Jaymie Thorne, Bliss Bait and Calliope’s Pen, to thank them for adding so much sweetness to the blogosphere.

* I hereby proclaim Nov. 8, Sexy Donut Day — and November Sexy Donut Month!
Surrounded
by the same
purple-tinged mountains
day after day
without really seeing them,
though urban sprawl
forces us closer to
the foothills
than ever before,
speeding from
one adrenaline rush
to the next,
running yellows
just missing the chance
to crash,
spin out of control,
fall into the night,
the pink sky
fading out of view.
Dedicated to the memory of my favorite childhood television personality, Fred Rogers (1928-2003).
So much for beautiful days
in the neighborhood.
Long gone is the speedy delivery
of good feelings
and friendly neighbor mentality
few and far between is the
neighbor who lends you a cup of sugar
or an extra egg, smiles
and always says “hello”
more common is the one who
avoids all eye contact,
shuts the garage door before
anyone has a chance to even
think about saying “hello”
or the one with the
broom up her ass,
who complains about
trees planted too close to her wall
yet plants cacti on the border
between your homes, so
you end up getting stuck
every time you prune your bushes.
Oh, Mr. Rogers, I so miss
your enchanting
neighborhood of
make believe,
and your closet of
cardigan sweaters.
I miss the simplicity of
the times, when I watched you
change your sneakers,
feed your fish, and I still thought
that neighbors were … well …
neighborly.