Embracing all the images
on the back stoop of my mind
where the picture gets all fuzzy
and the facts can drive you blind.

The hot white lights of neon summer
kiss our bodies and force us closer
to the pavement.

Brunette pigs tails and strawberry freckles
challenge the obituaries, and the stoplights
taunt our destiny,we speak more clearly,
but with increased insanity.

These are not words we are telling,
but merely the ramblings of our insides
as they scream for each other
in the language of guts.

Denim passes though teeth and turns
that rough blue rawhide, mixing with cotton curiosity,
before the backseats are red.

And before it's over the spotlights are all facing us,
but we're no one special.

I left a trail for her father.

11/30/2009