Discounted Poetry

The gentle breezes Sent seductive waves throughout Her purple curtain. She simmered a mess of curried lentils Telling of the years now past she wandered, Years of pain and victory, Of deaths and births of sorts, On desert routes and teeming ports Across the everlasting ocean. The scent was bright and heavy, Weighing down the air Beneath a pungent steam Within her cozy kitchen, Scent of cumin and cardamon, Her sweaty skin The watered earth. - 4/14/26

The forty days and nights Engulfed our world. Storms carried homes and highways Off forever, But they left a land Reset and ready. She is resting shoeless feet On top the dash And points to every license plate From another state. She once complained Whenever my free hand Wasn't on her thigh Instead the gear. Raspberry vines afire Blaze above her head, About the open window. The clouds are shrinking In the rearview. Rain is still a pleasant teasing Laced between unsteady Breezes. - 4/13/26

The day did not sleep enough last night. The day's considering adding highlights. The day is crying and doesn't know why. The day's investing too much in AI. The day is rubbish holding its liquor. The day is sure it can never forget her. The day's a subtle glowing lime green. The day is out of its Vaseline. The day is turning out to be leaky. The day believes your date is scary and freaky. The day has lost no time shifting the blame. The day is busy with tabletop games. The day is always too narcissistic. The day's eternally optimistic. The day believes in original sin. The day is hungry to kiss you again. The day's forgotten who is the boss. The day is making the sign of the cross. The day is taking it out for a spin. The day is stretching the hours too thin. The day's awaiting a turn in its luck. The day hopes you take it out for a suck. The day is wondering if you should bother. The day reminds you you're still not your father. The day is sure its pla...

I travel with a hardback In my backpack. She believes I wouldn't Trade in my threadbare book For a night with Louise Brooks. She believes in many things Like crystals, Biorhythms. We thought the train Unusual. A quirky travel method Crossing states. I never look before. I never look behind. I barrel down the train tracks Leaving others reading gravel, Tea leaves in my wake. That night A nightclub hunger Shone, a spotlight From her well-washed face Inside the shaking private car. Today, a lifetime more, Her lipstick and her blush Glow without a smear. She pries her eyes Above her phone And stares a second Bored. The station's racing near. - 4/9/26

She is sliding slick, The suds inside a car wash Down the window, Wiping clean the city streets Outside. The planets in the sky Have strayed. The stars confide She notices. I'm craving Taste, Her sweat across  Her milky chest, Her pinkest red Against my lips. She sports a sable bob, A subtle smile, And a wicked sway About her stride. I ache For just a nip, God, please, A hint of thickest salt To coat my fingertips. The world's a wrecked disaster After all, It cannot matter. - 4/8/26

Sizzle glasses fluted Stand beside The brandy syrup Mixed in reddest wine. The fumes alone will stagger your stride. The bowls are spilling over. Raspberry sauce. She's never Guzzled candied air Before. The walls are leaning to, The floor's a parachute Exhaling. Shoes and more are missing But no loss. He approaches flimsy Walking on a trampoline. His lips are moving mute, His sliding tongue between Is waltzing silently. She's off her feet An inch beneath The dangling tears  Below the chandelier. The tent is coming Down around her. Blessed be the waves. - 4/7/26