Burma Shave ads that weren't

       Burma Shave Stories

            The air you foul

      Will remember you well

          You’ll spend time

            Behind her bars

        In environmental hell

           I wish to whistle

             As the breeze

       A birdsong free to blow

That exits out the lips with wings

          Sonata expresso

         Alert in your drive

        Crooning like a sax

      Letting the phone buzz

         Between your legs

        Next town:  Climax

         Jagged or straight

        Reckless or jammed

          The road ahead:

          Bent at your will

        But not as planned

   Before you bite into a fruit

     Remember how to taste

   Don’t put it in your mouth

       Til its body streams

    With memory, not haste

Writing from trance on the way

The Way Things

The way the sun when branches

The way mouths fill with time

The way need more when want

The way amygdala jumps line

The way giggling when child

The way driftwood, salt spray

The way acorns in the hand

The way to savor on the way

The way alarms inside howl

The way unbearable when beat

The way rot, grubs, worms

The way chipped teeth, concrete

The way asleep when adrift   

The way bedrooms repeat

The way failure and relapse

The way don’t’s and ought to’s meet

The way of being shook

The way greater than wine

The way without a book

The way dispensed by time

The way of keeping pace

The way chores when strife

The way uncountable ways

Haunt us through a life