Francine smiled
as the fatuous faucet of fate
turned on.
Fastidious fatalism was the fashion
in those days.
Far to fanciful for that farce,
she foraged in fantasy
far from the fashionable.

Vociferous voiced vegans vex me.
Vivid vituperation voiced to those
disinclined to the virtue of vegetables.
Violently virtuous about their vitality
due to the vegie vitamins.

What would it be like to be the last,
to have none to follow,
to be the only one?
To look around and find none
like me, the mirror
my only companion.
Yearning for
the camaraderie of

The rabid riff raff raged,
as the rabbit raced, the rascal.
They radiated ridicule,
sounding like a rambling ragtime.
Still that rakish rabbit
resisted, ramming
through the ramshackle ranch.

Stepping out into my garden
lightly brushing my hand
against the lavender
releasing the fragrance
allowing it to float to my nose
I inhale it
absorbing the scent
I do this again

They were a matching pair.
She sat patting his hand,
saying quietly, my poor baby.
Each of them had half a smile,
one on the right the other on the left.
We laughed that they could have

Slowly she walked into the house,
just the way they taught her,
cane, bad foot, good foot and again,
slowly deliberately she walked.
Her left arm hung, useless, forming a claw,

Carly was in a conundrum
unable to control the convection
conventionally.
Carly generally was convivial
while cooking, today convulsed.
She confessed, I can't cope
with convoluted convection.

Are mature muses mutually matched?
I am amused by this meditation,
a musical munificence of musing.
Mussy mutability mutates mystery
of mythical muse,
mystifies me marvelously.

Thinking about time, pondering
why is it that as I do that I sit back.
Is it the distance that I need,
the perspective, another angle
to see the past, divine
the future.
What is it about time?

Time titillates
past, present, future.
Tilt tilling today,
singing the timbre of tomorrow.
Touching tone of a
tortuous past till
the thrust of a thunderstorm
ticks tirelessly.

Marla mastered masticating
meat before she was mature.
Marbled material
mattered marvelously, not
that mashed up marsh material
they market as meat.
Mildly malodorous malt

Mother taught me to always whisper,
keep my song in my mind,
she told me,
one day I would know
when I could release my voice.
Each morning waking to the music
of the birds,

I reach out
my hand
open
touching
the gossamer
substance
but not
floating
ever closer
then an unseen
breeze
pushes it
just
out of my
reach
for a moment
brief
I touched the

A hot summer day the sidewalk shimmers,
a mirage of movement
focus
heat
is it an insubstantial luminescence
memory
emotion
visions
what then is this inference of illusion
reflection
echo