Vulgaire, sale, bruyant, les plus belles nuits de ma vie,

Pretty vulgar, tongue-in-cheek
Summers on horses, by the bay, long hair and strong winds. Setting aside time for family and time for self. Looking onward, shimmery skies. Time to invite the dogs.

Writing that always ends up being romantic, taking your case to trial. Synth sounds, going back to sheer old days. Hot nights, hot hot nights. To put it frankly, you’re pretty vulgar

What I was doing before you

entered the scene
brightest eyes I’ve seen
jacket draped over my shoulders
cheers to how smooth it’s been

but back then I would wake
as somebody I’m not
How to get out of a slumber
Not something I was taught

So I dug myself deeper
tried to find my bones
Would call random numbers
Strangers would answer the phone

I solidified that on concrete, stone
and drank a half gallon of patron.

The end of winter

Breathless hesitation
You notice things about me that others don’t
Secret little conversations
Have to pay for parking, you say you won’t

Disenchanted with inadequacy
Failed comprehension
You, there, biting your lip
Trying to hold back the tension

A slippery waterfall
The golden gate bridge
Didn’t return your call
Words like a sales pitch

I think I’ve counted the ways
of how to make this tree grow
but when it’s this cold out
you always feel so alone.

Blueprints

Strawberry kisses, sweet tangerines
Life is getting better, so it seems
Misunderstanding me; vanilla ice cream

My planner, not filled out, blank pages
forgetting days, not even watching them pass
like a ghost hiding from its reflection

Long nails, difficult to type
Sold out concerts, not worth the hype
Poems that aren’t intended to rhyme

3 stanzas is preferred
4 is out of the ball park
A hit or a miss
A hit or a miss