When in Store
tight ass shorts
and decaf coffee
brought aisle 8 to life
loose halter top
compelled to touch
an elbow
she gave me a look
as I mumbled about
caffeine and civets
where was I going
distracted by her
own thoughts
began to wander away
where would she go
i wanted to follow
but instinct held me
back in that
air conditioned reality
that it would be uncool
my basket incomplete
watched as she went
out to a lemon beetle
and left the lot
without a glance
Connective Tissue
Isolation is not for the idiot,
broken slabs of sorrow
moistened by the rain,
no sign of the suns
needle point breakthrough
a puncture
to a raised palm,
alone disguising himself
in clothes so vanilla plain
he becomes in indistinct,
until another comes
with words used
as a way
to reach ears
not wanting to listen,
and a soft touch
on a fallen shoulder