If we were that way

I could fix that breezy crack so it doesn’t leak
a bone cold wind on anyone within arm’s reach
again. I’m no drywaller but you’re such
a piece of work it’s hard to not lend a hand.
I’d mend the wall between us and you’d beleive
you were better for it. If you were malleable mud
I’d shape that nub, smooth that lip curl of disgust.
You’d trust my expertise. I’d press you into the wall, fit you on
my sure gliding tool. I’ll make your unevenness flush, pale
and damp to the touch. Later you can pretty yourself up
but for an a few minutes, you’d be mine, if I
were a handyman, and you as malleable
as mud. But neither of us are, are we?

motel sign
blistering it’s paint in sun
its metal frame in rain,
proclaiming ammenity
of CoLoR television
each letter demonstrating
to a black and white
highway dotted lines
unstopping world

Don’t
give me flak
do you see
a jacket
on me? Don’t
baby me
no bassinet
around my
hips
no beauty mark
no droll painted pouty lips.
just don’t.

talk and pretend
we are friends.
see how that might
just work?

am I blue?

shower mist, near steam
onto my morning cold fist
drips from it chilled
as if in each digit
were refrigerant
coiled but not
striking.

(untitled as of yet)

all of god’s plans
sprung to life here in PEI

as an egg tempura painting
the bell dome of blue lacquer
touching the red rim of sand/sea

I become as a pollen grain
on a carpet of white

potato blossoms
up to the rolling coast
temptation to lie
make snow angels

healing in the destruction
of broken stems

seeping leaves
petals thrashed

to drift to the
wet cheek