poem

remember those days
lonely
walking to the
poorly stocked library
buying coffee
you had no money for
remember those days
wresting
stubborn haiku
from a moment

it's easy to look back
into the past
and think
"it's good"
it's good because it's easy
but it's easy because
it's over

all the time
spent reminiscing
remembering
those days not
anymore
while those days of
now
of not quite yet
shift into them

remembering those days
writing
poems of the future
slipping
to the past
examining the rosy
colored time
that didn't last

then was now
now will be
then
where will i be
walking to the library
drinking coffee
i can't afford
suffering some new
suffer
longing
for the suffer
of before

Harvest

A Shorty...What do you think

She's sitting at a counter having a coffee. It is the color of a caramel chew. The stirring spoon, left in a bus bin. Each time she sips her tepid libation, she pinches her nose with her first finger and thumb.
Looking up from her book, through the window, directly infront of the counter at which she is sitting, she watches a girl in a floppy woven hat, standing on the pedals of her bike as it rolls by of it's own momentum. Noticing the four full racks in her field of vision, she thinks:
"Every body rides bikes here."
She had, in fact, ridden her bike there.

A too skinny, shirtless, surferesque guy, in flip flops and swimming trunks.
A kind of nerdy guy, with intellectual looking hair and glasses, Val Kilmer lips.
A jungle green car pulling into a parking spot in front of the cafe.
"That car's just like mine."
That car is yours.

See the key scratch down the side from that long ago drunken debacle.
See the dented front fender, the battle scar of a shopping cart war gone awry.
See him opening the driver side door, a glance and a smile to his right, locking the door, stepping out.
See her opening the passenger door, moving to get out, pulled back into place by the forgotten lap belt.
"My lap belt."
Yes, your lap belt.
They both chuckle.

She takes another sip of her quickly cooling coffee, the coagulating cream floating on the surface, creating the pattern of wind blown sand on a surface of a dune, floating down her throat, into her stomach, acid with acid, her nose left unplugged.
She doesn't notice.

LEFT LANE FOR PASSING ONLY

I'm passing all y'all motherfuckers!

I seriously think this everytime I pass a "left lane for passing only" sign.

I swear.

I know....I'm cool.

Cheese Curds...A Love Poem

what is it about cheese curds?

sometimes i think i should watch
what/how much i eat
maybe drop 5ish pounds.
all that somehow seems
to magically vanish
when it comes time to eat.

i just ate white rice
with miso dressing
and kraft mexican blend
cheese melted on it,
and then
about a 1/2 cup of cottage cheese.

what is it about cheese curds?