Chapter One

Off-key melodies show the genius in the rhythm
of austere cold in the yellow shale neighborhood
where the cute doctor shaved downstairs. Ahem.
Yes, doctorates are awarded to the expected brood

Because dark blue courses lay down a bonded way
that will not, for a gold chance, be easily forgotten.
Up the stairs a landlady starts at a pale green May
coming through her window not uninvited, but then

reconsiders. A child's short bark is only the start
of a correspondence that will haunt a generation
that is yet to be born. Yellow letters often marked
by the pale man late of radio did birth the notion

of a halting voice that still quakes to speak. What 
if a block from the cold stones a quiver arose but

To call it swimming is weird

The day I overdosed on anchovies was a cloudy day
with winds from the east that purple and lime green
blustered while a lame purpose from the east swayed
twin palm's golden birthing into that dictionary scene. 

A little cow funk evaporated through the clear divide,
enough to color my now room from a cool white vibe
to something more like blues ascension in crazy time.
(When salty little fish grow wings you'd better sigh.)

Skipping, skipping, New Morning and only had groove
enough to smell the chocolate and crave salty legumes.
A taste is sweet enough when the skillet starts to move,
little black specks in your roux: a solemn hint of tombs.

Bass lines make no issues with glass that so easily slides,
down in a crypt I hearded crimes from crispy fins inside.

One Afternoon

One of the greatest pleasures in life
is to lie skin to skin with another human being.

To feel hot breath on your neck or
to breathe hot breath on the neck of another.

To feel your hairy legs wrapped around hairless legs
or to feel hairless legs wrapped by your hairless legs
or to feel your hairless legs wrapped by hairy legs
or to feel hairy legs wrapped by your hairy legs.

To feel the flat red flush of a heaving breast.