Rough Concrete on the Balcony Floor

Rough concrete on the balcony floor becomes a nostrum
to roughed hewn heels with a sweeping motion. It's bliss
to smoothly and in rhythm frisk away the grown history
of yellowing cracked age. But right now it mostly comes

on afternoons after the nap that leads to our blissy place.
Rise and sip the Sauvignon Blanc, breaking out of dreams
left in the warm dishevel of twisted sheets, a whet ream
of red blankets not yet packed.  A box waits, void space

that will hold life transported by strangers to paradise.
A couple of nights with a blanket dry-cleaned politely
last in Ocean Beach. Home then, now a shrewd devise
colored that makes a bed on hardwood floors: nightly.

Brought a Tear

Moochy Minoan mosaics brought a set of breasts
into this picture clearly despite the tiled modesty
and the back light. Efforting to offer a mild resist
against the desire to fly ala 'The Village and I" by

becoming blue and carpet to sail above the roofies
or roofies imagined (gasp!). I just saw some perky
bits. Polka dots channeling sweet Marilyn go spoofy,
boner ensues. It's "I and the Village" you stupid jerk!

When the plaintive performs at the Ryman, tears flow:
we took our souls and flew away.

An Umbrella Left

An umbrella in a stale room falsely returned
returns again on a lifted day threatening rain.
This umbrella opens wrongly. Its logo espied
from former hands desiring its midnight blue.

You cannot smoke in peace under this horror
a-tucked underarm and dropped later crossed
into time. A moist dilemma amplified by windy
rain, clocks gone missing, a rainbow umbrella

left behind in a wood paneled room demanded
a return to drying mechanics of open and close.
One umbrella opens first, one is last in closing;
All umbrellas rainbows, midnight wet the same