Letter Collector

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Tensile Tongue

Flexing my lexicon
Muscling with reminisce

Lifting might lingual
Pressing word angles
How can I exorcise a line?
Or bench a weighted word?



Thrown at me with raptured force
An object whistling through its course
I know a pule from ripe riposte
But rifled trifles hurt the most

Whizzing words just by my ear
Hurling insults very near
Aimed to strike and create fear
A flippant gesture loud and clear



There’s an owl’s nest in the Tenderloin
It’s high up on a pole, aloft on the edge

When the owl piffs its head forth
Shrieks from beak, its eyes seek

But a mate comes forward
And alas, despite the shriek
The hole allows for only one


Melancholy Country

Sadness abroad
Fills and swells
Fixed glazed eyes
On others doing what they do
Just like us, but different
They teach us to be human
And that all love is all the more



The power of a simile
Lies in its ability
To connect to things like lichen
Or reflect and cut like diamond

A simple word like “as”
Can give us moment’s pause
And like its hidden guile
Like the power of a smile


Army Piece

He wore a piece of his soldier’s guise
Homophobic rage his gaze
Meddled in the minds of men
Ringing in the ears he’s wrung

Tied to those he says he’s not
Discussed with self, his lye abused
Lessened, grayed, his score is hoar
Mends his piece, no longer peeks

Miner, digger, gold, or naval
Prize his pride, from others wrested


Rolling Scent

I smelled that aftershave from afar
It made my eyes burn, gasp for air
The Charmin wafted through my skin
And made the crowd feel really thin

Your tissue scent spun off the roll
And placed you in a similar role
Square for square you sheet the wind
And make us flush with knowing grin


Five Minutes

Five minutes, whoa-oh



A nut job loser fanatic crazy
Whom others see as prophet
A prophet is a social creation
One must claim oneself to be
And other must say the same

But that does not make a prophet
Nor a prophecy make sense
It takes more than numerical codes
To know the world’s future



She would like to try
She would like to try and be someone
She would like to try
And be someone known for her rugs

He would love to find
He would love to find another route
He would love to find
Another route for his soft porn

She would rather not talk about him
Or his job woes
He would rather drift into a cafe
And be someone
They would rather simply socialize

Lovely artsy couple something
Not so lovely artsy couple


Sun Bomb

In the days before the sun
I forgave the shining heat
In the days before the cool
I called the frost anew
I left the way of weather
For nothing I have seen
Bereft of ways together
A lurid mine I’ve been



A now expressed through past time
Encumbered by the memory
A real life lived and now gone
The way we make sense of it all

Thinking back on all things
A melancholy effort
The loss of time and friends
The thoughts don’t even cut it