We begin as a
single cell, expanding to
a mass of crazy.

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The American
dream starts with one voice preaching
possibilities.

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Volunteer army
battles apathy for hearts
and minds of fallen.

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Entertaining at
home begins with love and ends
with massive cleanup.

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Snazzy scarf becomes
wrapped up in knotty neck, a
tangled, tussled heap.

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The cubicle no
longer shields me from wonders
and warts in the world.

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Forget modesty.
The sweetest fibs bring our dreams
to breathtaking life.

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Dirty hair closely
resembles clean hair, and it
styles much easier.

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Much of my life is
spent smelling like burnt coffee
from Starbucks dwelling.

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Shot, swish. Shot, swish. They
rallied to save the day when
it mattered the most.

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Worn tires send car
sliding down the interstate
to oblivion.

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Two drink minimum,
jazz until the wee hours,
lost in smoky gaze.

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Prose populates the
pages, to literally
interpret the soul.

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It’s dark, and she’s tired.
The mood ruined, and the house
smells of burnt onions.

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The red pen sees all,
knows all, to the annoyance
of those marked around.

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