Two Dollar Specials

January 29, 2014  :: 0 comments

Muted sweaters laugh
at elaborate wisecracks
as they’re pulled from women
draped with hair like neglected
cowboy boots and the fear of horses,
crowing consonants full of nobodies.
Sleight of hand leaves Long Island
silent as bent bobby pins. She loves bad jokes
but it’s all he can laugh at anymore
just waiting to forgive
the bees of their busied sadness
with our endless limbs,
paper umbrellas collapse
in Key West sunsets and the sounds
that make us mean.

Sweetheart of the Hickory Bark
After Gram Parsons

featured in the poetry forum January 29, 2014  :: 0 comments

Climbing the crotch of old shagbarks
xxxxxxas the memories of you rubbed raw
the Carolina winds of a troubled first kiss
xxxxxxpretending to be a far heart,
xxxxxxachingxxxxxxfrom the aftermath
of moonshine as it
feels better each time
the yellow catkins fall lonesome.
Tongueless hunger crawls out
from those days like a mourning fog
sunk into the greatness of
xxxxxxbeing eaten by this year’s
mosquitoes around the cooking fire.

editors note:

Mountain man mourns last year’s love with moonshine and mosquitoes. – mh


featured in the poetry forum November 13, 2012  :: 0 comments

into the morning
as coffee
double boils
into a cups dark as stale
the blackness
sticking to teeth like
the grip
of immortal kamikaze’s

editors note:

Nothing like a searing cuppa joe to remove that wake-up caul. – mh

Tea in the Flower Shop

featured in the poetry forum January 20, 2012  :: 0 comments

For CW

You are the center
of a million thoughts
fizzling smoke-like from a cannon,
just trapped outlining a powder
in the rain.

The teeth in your mouth
are an effervescent
against the bottle of bourbon in the top drawer
of the borrowed dresser you loaned me.
You’re pretty,
Like hibiscus in a tea bag,
and I want to taste you.
I wont,
because when I come around
you’re only a bud and
not a

editors note:

The bourbon bees buzz this blossom to no avail. Alas, no bloom, no bliss. – mh

In the Shower

featured in the poetry forum January 15, 2011  :: 0 comments

The steam reveals the finger
and handprints of our love
on the vanity mirror.
The water rolls down your tanned flesh
like it would if a waterlogged schooner was
abandoned at sea.
The heat of the water
curls the chains of your hair,
making them black as they whip my cheeks
in your playful way of rinsing shampoo.
I touch you as bubbles cover your
inner thighs,
mascara runs down the sides of the shoulder
You stare over as
I reach out to catch it.
Trying to hold it in my finger tips like it was the
last earthly thing to hold close
enough to your form to bravely say it has felt you.
I am just a man,
naked except for tattooed lines
that etch a story of twenty two short years.
Your marks are from God;
the eight moles on your chin and neck,
bruises from a long night
of making love and smoking out of your bedroom window,
and a cut on your finger from opening the last
Coke and sharing it with me at dinner.
As you shut off the drain we both shiver,
water gone,
electricity humming in our bones
as we sing into each other’s larynxes,
knowing the perfect words
to the songs we had written for each other,
long before we had known ourselves.

When You Leave a Woman Behind

featured in the poetry forum November 12, 2010  :: 0 comments

I walk steadily
like the rowing of an oar in the ocean,
going nowhere,
but stretching limbs out like saltwater taffy.
My teeth smell like new toothpaste,
that we supplemented by the French kiss
of dental floss and dollar brand mouthwash.
Today is a memory
waiting to be creased and kept in your khakis.
The moon is a smashed obelisk
left to hang over the
arching brows of your drunken yells.
We fight for five blocks
your heels clicking the cement like a metronome
made out of cheap rum
and shoddy eyeliner.
I leave you on the corner to catch the first bus out of here
as if we both don’t know you already have a round trip ticket.
Pockets resting like cadavers in my jeans,
wishing to hug you.
The taillights are a harmless smolder
of the fire I left behind.

Prince Charming

featured in the poetry forum September 3, 2010  :: 0 comments

I am a silver-backed gorilla,
who hasn’t wised up.
The epitome of an ugly duckling,
with clipped wings,
broken beak,
and webless feet.
I got a beard filled with all colors of hair,
most of which are not even mine.
I pick my nose and wipe it on white socks,
eat double the legal amount of hot wings,
and drink more than any
lush around.
But you will love me.
I climb beanstalks for golden eggs,
and leave confusing footprints.
I want to slap on your backside
as if it were an upright bass.
Your lips need gnawing,
as I wish you could risk watching
us make love in front of your parents.
You’re communion wine,
and I am a sleeve of crackers.
You are my muse,
and favorite centerfold.
The reason I wear pants in public is for you.
I’m an endless book of matches,
without a flint strip
and I need you to light me up.