May 2013

	May 2013 Wax off - Wax on and on… Kennel Cough Lumen Skincraft Aye, tis a Wee Breezy Tonight Tzatziki Renewed Gingivitis Sky Cuts Travelocity	Wax off - Wax on and on… Kids worry their wits about… ignition who’s got it, who want’s it? …lighting the wick, nurturing the flame. parents worry bout the wax… will it stain? parents miss the best part of wax?
Kennel Cough Expectant… tails thumping some are whirly-gigs against the floor some just wiggles - halting then tachycardic should you proffer your hand, a finger to lick. some faces vacant Despondent… too often passed too often left for something scruffy, bouncy, or cute. the wallflowers… the plain, left to languor un-asked to dance. Life at the kennel, life at the bar, life at the high school near you.	Lumen I send you out into the world my sprite, my child a little bubbling beaker of secret sauce a vessel of ideas and dreams a rose about to blossom, spill its seed upon the loins of the realm. I don’t know the fragrance you’ll impart, or what taste you’ll leave upon their tongue, not the poetry… nor the words left ringing in their mostly closed or craven yellow caked ears. I send you out filled with all I could give you. the courage to try the wisdom to cry and all the love that’s had the favor to rain upon me. Just you, Lumen, the brightest light I’ve ever known.	Skincraft I’ve walked the desserts of your skin all the crooks and nannies, the hollow vales the treasures of the glen. I’d walk the deserts of your skin the foreign lands of ink the exotic spikes impaled in the peaks of your promised lands. I’ve walked macadam lanes your heart in my hand my feet on your path my love in your eyes. I’d hold your world in a balance just breaths away… caught just - before they die upon my fingers delicious snicks from heaven - lavender sighs. Be the darkness in my dawn, the velvet logic that taunts me, your mind designing the shape of the fire. your body ever on the verge of bliss.
© Zedcolor Art Aye, tis a Wee Breezy Tonight A mischievous wind, deviant little blades probing, prying each crevice, whistling down your cracks. great grey owls whooo-in cross the roof, devils of the wood bellowing through the mobs of trees whimpers, creepy secrets puling neath the eaves winding through the roots skirls from the attic like a bagpipe moldy with mildew and rot.	Tzatziki I love when you low-rise on me to kiss the seed from your lips, to know the cool sublime, the tang of the lamb. I love the salt don’t you, the loll of its brine around the tongue? cucumber is best that way especially in gyros. the Greeks always knew best.	Renewed a great clatter of leathery wing drank the silence of the night, unseen, lost in the chiral tar of darkness gone where coral lips met the sea. We stood as shadow banker grey silhouettes backlit by fire, ready once again to smolder to burn.
© James Appleton Gingivitis I’m walking on glass on these coconut roads walking on sunbeams and glass our life a blur in the side view mirror as I drive these coconut roads driving over the dreams and glass there’s blood in these sands on these coconut roads I lost the tourniquet on SR52 my remorse is cold we lost too many years in the sieve of these coconut roads. my gums are bleeding too much glass on these coconut roads it’s too painful to chew on that love anymore.	Sky Cuts Cloud hangs from the ceiling of the sky, Stalactites of vapor, Tub water drippings, Grimy grey tongues Licking all hue from the land. The evening falls early, A grim day’s grumble As it squelches the light, Its dingy wash Draped across the line. Yet a crease burns through, A wrinkle of fire, Like sharkskin bleeding Its wounds gilt From a crucible of butter and gold.	Travelocity Ride the sirens with me straddle our neon scream. Hold me in the firelight as we pull the veil of ashes aside. Savor the starlight pushing their pulse upon the streets. Ride these rainbows of Brooklyn run your dreams through a Manhattan drain. Ride a tube through His Majesty’s Cross. Push the bullet deeper, faster through the callous dark hearts of France. Drive me out to gulp, deeper, to gasping to the salty meringue of your soul’s inner skin