*

at dusk, the sun paints
brilliant, surreal, dreamy hues
through Ann Arbor skies.

***

in Huron river's calm waters

the kayakers at dusk stalk the setting sun,

stir the proverbial pot and disturb the gods.

*

softly treading the narrow
pathway, a pitcher-full of ice
drawn from the hotel's ice machine

in hand.

about to pull an all-nighter
with a bottle of grey goose vodka

for company.

alone inside a four-sided wall, all i could hear was the quiet hum of the monitors sending their messages into the gloom.

downrange. and in country.

a flight of drones. a flash of doom.
one less tango inside the room.

a sardonic smile. a vengeful toast.
a silent triumph. a night of quiet celebration
at home.

*

 

 traversing a deserted
road at
dusk
the shadow of a
bare tree framed against
the setting sun
glaring back
at you
like a dark sentinel
from long ago
a harbinger of doom
a sinister picture of what lies
ahead
along the barren path to
oblivion.

*A2.MI

Tonight I can write the saddest lines

tonight i can drink beer and read some Neruda.

feliz cumpleaños señor Pablo.

*Andy Garcia

...

you

pray 

for a never-ending 

harmony 

that exposed 

your

innocence 

and predilections

 for that

uncertain 

butter-soft 

fragility 

of the human 

spirit 

melting 

the essence 

of your 

sweet 

heart

and rebellious 

psyche 

into one 

coherent 

soul.

This Old Guitar

my old acoustic guitar, 

the sole witness 

during those rare 

times where i can 

wear 

my heart on 

my sleeve.