To The Campfire
My worries vaporize
In a campground pit
Between your flames waltzing
My gaze over timber
Through a masquerade
Of smoldering faces
As embers hoist my focus
On ashes that float upward
While hot coals invite me
To slide down your banister
Of smoke and dance with
Each apparition
Crazy as Cyclops
Entangled among snakes
All chummy in a stupor
While they flicker between
Alpha and Omega
Snapping through cremation
Over Half a Century
Handcrafted my body
Like pottery chipped
In some places that
Broke off during
A bygone era
Deficient in
Curricula
For this age of
Graffiti on skin
Piercing my readiness
Between corpses
Of recollection
Directed by
An algorithm
Which prorates mistakes
Scribbled on postcards
That picture excuses for
People on street corners
Scrolling their messages
While I walk past them
Excavating remains
Among the Bay of Pigs
I Want to Hold Your Hand
Or Cassius Clay’s new name
Clinging to my mouth
Like stale Wonder bread
From those decades tied
Behind plastic wrap
Still wanting a slice
Of pertinence
Microcosm
After the painting by Carol Keene, 2015
When dusk sips away light
The what ifs appear between
Daiquiri and bedtime
Just supposing begins
Its review of the workday
Spurting like lime juice
Flanked by rum and syrup
Conjecture swallows
What was said among friends
Bitter hours squeeze
Along the glass rim
Of daytime fading home
Fruit stuck at the bottom
Of nightfall prevents
The sandman from visiting
