waggingtongue

[waggingtongue]

Early Birdly

other than making love, life feels friendly when

"to-dos" are completed early, and the remaining hours

can be used and bartered without guilt. Today,

.

yesterday, and most days before, the greatest

gifts have been offered moments before light: a silence

and friendship (and creative nutrients aplenty) to

saturate the air for early bird, artistic smithies whose

breaths and thoughts intoxicate learned doubts

to loosen embedded inhibitions

..

topsy turvy

toxic turdy

tasteless wordy

opinions from the unwanted, unkept lips

of impudent knowers of all...polluting the earwaves

immediately after the dayshift clocks in

...

Across town, in a field where the drive-in theater used to be (and Petey Brown's body was found last Spring), a handful of 13-year-old boys get a game of "pepper" going and swap stories about the joys of puberty.

[waggingtongue]

Once dead, immediately put me on the northbound side of I-35 with the other feral roadkill, just on the shoulder close enough to be recognized.

Let em all see

Let em all feel free

to wave or spit

Let em all laugh

Let em all cry

obscenities in a celebratory fit

Careful not to run over me, might get a roofing nail in your tire. Just leave me there and let the buzzards and highway department posture for the best parts. And no bother if any words spill out of worn pockets; let them sail, they’ll be okay.

Ashes to dust to a

smear spot on the road

that served as my lifelong friend.

[waggingtongue]

Common courtesy and common sense are good common denominators for the common good of common man.

Rare are the practicioners of this common solution to the common ills of the two legged beast.

[waggingtongue]

seek neighborhoods where

men wear makeup

women wear the balls

poets rhyme in 6/8 time

and the streets cheer the peculiar

[waggingtongue]

let me die with grace

like autumn foliage

in harvest colors

of red and gold

splashing freely

reminders of

childhood

comfort food

blessings of innocence

decorative and ornamental

even in death

let me fall next to friendly gourds

and accessorize our mutual

journey into the dormant season

[waggingtongue]

Progress: when you finally feel comfortable being uncomfortable in your own skin.

[waggingtongue]

hurt

they hurt they do...(that’s what they do)

they hurt

.

words spat from bowels in 6/8 time

over lips absent of prayer and opinion

lightening rounds of descension to the dark

til dark offers purple...never seeing gray

never hearing the mona lisa

back alley places never told to others

..

(shown to even fewer) who hark warnings

to the foolish remaining at the watering hole

soon to be gator food

words for every feeling...solutions for every word

hurt and go dark

deeper til you see violet

...

talkers and barkers and

walkers and stalkers and

mockers and fuckers and thieves

oh, my…

[waggingtongue]

We men can have a strange way of showing love. Waiting in a three-blocks-long, two hour line for weekend brunch at some trendy eatery with our "sweetie" probably qualifies.

Tell death I found her sting.

[waggingtongue]

The end is near

and coming soon.

If true, might it wait

til Sunday afternoon?

[waggingtongue]

On the plains of 1960 Oklahoma, the only skyscrapers were silos and grain elevators where farmers stored feed and crops.

We lived in town, but kept a silo for family secrets.

[waggingtongue]

“…why then oh why can’t i”

[waggingtongue]

More shade is delayed

due to budgeting issues

Feral citizens threaten to leave town

Poets retreat to metaphor

groveling to the goddess of autumn

[waggingtongue]

Struggling for ideas and words is as common to writers as nosebleeds to a fighter. When afflicted—often in a coffee shop like today—I pass the time treating my senses to nearby stimuli. Like now, I’m eavesdropping on two conversations while trying to hear Anita O’Day sing “It’s De Lovely” in the background.

Looking out the window, I watch the sidewalk commuters feeding their phone addiction while shuffling to a job most don’t care for. My heart thanks the barista for the aroma of roasting beans creeping from the back room while I continue to taste a bitterness I’ve carried for years for those I’ve chosen to despise.

Somehow, this is all magical because I do it from an abandoned hobo camp—miles from any man or his made objects—known only to me…and a few imaginary friends from childhood who have been kind enough to keep in touch through the years.

[waggingtongue]

you forgive your government

then take it out on me…

[waggingtongue]

Former kings leveling bubbles hammering guilt into nails— self imposed hard labor for nutant choices time refuses to forget

.

Pound your shame

Bang your pathetic record with

Sequined nostalgia

..

Pewter and rice

Two into six thrice.

Martha won’t be here— farewelled adiosed vamoosed to future taboos of thought and folly

...

Out of town previews— advocates of hollow lustings dream dryly from the pressure of peers and inferior fetishes

[waggingtongue]

Hank’s Coffee Shop

Again, you provide a seductive ambiance for gypsy hearts: a light rain, cloudy with soft, low lighting inside and out; the most comfortable chair - not too pretty or smart, but a friend to all - massaging bottoms and egos through the years and owners. Hank’s is my creative sweet spot in this city of a million pinballs where I can mind my business…and everyone else’s.