the squeal of rubber rips the silence
as a fast driver carves up the
invisible night with an extended
tortured note and skid marks
when it stops I close my eyes
wait for crickets to serenade
the darkness so my dream
can resume the chase
sprinting from another memory
snorers are braggarts they say to the sleepless I can even hum a tune while I do it
walking out my front door I’m assaulted by the awful stink of thousands of mango blossoms but oh what a miracle when they morph into handfuls then armfuls of ambrosia as if a hangover could turn into
look up some evening past the curiosity of night beyond the moon’s stare to the distant stars some that shine brightly here are cold black cinders there love too is a seen glow but how do we know if i