Love and Crayolas

Don't get me wrong
I might could write your song
but it would be me glancing at you

Don't think me wise
I might see your daylight skies
without fathoming the blues of nights

We color and redraw
across pages of Mardi Gras
without noting the rains coming down

Horizons

Yes, I laughed at yesterday's tomorrow
and chuckled and joked at looking forward.

I always expected drier, lighter snow
and always saw the one-eyed poker card:

It was just support for pennies on the table
and the cloistered closing lines of our fable.

In Your (Our) Face

In your face.
I will remain in the race.
There is no disrespect
but just what you expect.
Sometimes we stumble
and sometimes we mumble
but we can twirl a star
at as distant and far
as we can imagine that far;
hold down the tent
it will rain and rumble
and many of us will disappear
into the clouds of despair
almost as quickly as frogs
from distant ditches and bogs.
The world translates us
differently and without fuss.
I still try to corner love
and fit into my working glove
but moments are moments
as burials are monuments.
Circles are sometimes smaller
than we need or call for;
we live in circumscribed
bottleneck dreams,
or so it often seems
though few of us feel bribed;
We know our tribe.