she ran
sometimes on a slant
away as much as to

ward off all
the heads of
the hydra that she
seemed to see

she heard my pulse
of confusion
and took me along
on the cyclone

a little loss goes
for a small price
we pay the admission
by having them
and owning up
and staying up
and living up

to the serious things
we bargained for

and we win with
a silly smile
and a cleansed palate
and the rest that comes

she heard my pulse

© Tom Watters  6/13/07

I  felt you in
That quick sigh
in the steering wheel’s
slight whine
in the desert’s dark
wind envelope

crisp/silently
at 120 mph
I felt the slight
tension in your
frame release
as if you were there

as if you were on me

those lips far
away and still
a mysterious land
terra unconfirma
sending a sirocco of
incongruity
blessed and cursed

travel makes me
thirsty
for that which
is the most
idealized
a postage stamp
with the sweetest
adhesive

the lines on the road
sing to me a sonnet
of pristine desire
a morse code that
still tacks out your
whispered promise

I always will

© Tom Watters  6/8/07

in the faded photograph
she stood between two
toe-headed boys

they were an exhibit;
objects of accomplishment.

affection an unexercised option

obedience…
obedience was the job

behavior was the
benchmark
the measure of successful
child husbandry

pabst blue ribbon

ever obedient was she
silent to the dark
she carried in her conscience
provided by a familial love
nobody could wish for

she later accomplished
three
herself.

gave them the affection
loved them

she was objectified by
their co-creator
she remained obedient
more silent, a darker shade

in this sun-less
environment a secret fungus
germinated:
and blocked all light

she drank from
the spigot of
opportunity/religion,
met her betrayal
in the pews

when the parishioner
bedded her husband
she did not blink.

she was answering
to a new master
she confronted
the blue-ribbon demon
who took her
youth, her hope

in a weak state
he could not utter
a defense

he elected to end his time here
the object of an unanswered question

a consequence

the glory of his fruit
and her obedience

© Tom Watters  6/3/07

I’ve done my
free time.
it is like a
sly wink
mocking
for joie
that you assume
is a reward

a house arrested
of pity
full
showing a sequined
tin cup
in the outstretched hand
of the
well-attentioned

adjust/unjust
intentions
standing at the
corner of  croissant
and bowflex
acerbic and
glowing with
smirk

I ride up
on able
reptile shoulders
aptly adopting
the camouflage
hiding in
the caring
the stance

free time, you see
is neither…
a vile
alarm clock
attached to
fun- stapled and spindled

currency spent

© Tom Watters  6/1/07