Soft rock, right-wing talk,
hit country, all hip-hop, Jack,
oldies, classic rock.

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Dark visions portend
nothing, except the restless
psyche of the damned.

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Apparently, the
great adventure begins just
after the packing.

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The black pickup scoots
through the intersection while
the light remains red.

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The group dynamic
teeters from creative to
arguing motives.

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Giving to others
starts with an inkling but grows
into a passion.

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With meticulous
care and painstaking guidelines,
he shopped for sneakers.

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We cross a vast sea
of blacktop, setting course for
a red brick outpost.

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Pretty maids all in
a row, somewhat in sequence,
dancing without care.

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Pay close attention,
and your day’s frustrations can
be comedy gold.

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Power lines criss-cross
inky blue swath. Old friends hug
goodbye on sidewalk.

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She gets my voicemail.
I get her voicemail. No one
triumphs at phone tag.

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Tortillas crisp in
bubbling oil. Rice, beans stew
on nearby burners.

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Stealthy pack leaves some
casualties: camera case, bag
of fruit, something else.

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The fishing village
shows itself in bold murals
crumpled by past storms.

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