Naked recitals on a rainy day
Pursuing words off the tip of her tongue
The bookmark’s subtle movement
But that bell won’t be un-rung
I have a weakness for smart women
There’s a deliciousness to their thoughts
Flaunting her drop-dead genius
Leaving me bothered & hot
Innocently lewd ending with a flourish
She comes to me, reaching to kiss my earlobe
Retreats with a curtsy à la nude
She’s done; winks & pulls closed her robe
Ringing the doorbell at the campus bookstore
A vintage, pull chain contraption
Antiquated, yet still rather expensive
A lot of fine print within the caption
Education is a self-fulfilling myth
When the public library is free
Pay your tuition into the system
It all depends from what lens you wish to see
Aroused by the typewriter’s bell
I’m salivating like Pavlov’s dog
Imagining caffeinated mornings
Walking the Sunset within the fog
Though those were forgotten emotions
I’m not able to repeat that form
So I do my best to feel the original
Sometimes I’m hard to notice before the storm
Running my fingers upon the smooth surface
Keeping them always against the grain
I know my way through the Redwoods
They’re my protection against the dark stains
Born in the high desert among the cacti
Faint echoes from mission bells of yore
Great things come from fools with faith
Misguided souls remain thirsty for more
Stubborn & obstinate as hardwood
Needing my love to keep from being truculent
Even though our touch doesn’t always soften conditions
Nevertheless, she is still my favorite succulent
Liberation granted by the morning alarm
Still alive; this body aching with rippling fatigue
October visions, yet I’m safe from obvious harm
Visions dwindling; remnants of horrific intrigue
Seeking out coffee to loosen this slumber
A stretch & chance to deliberately mourn
These dreams encrusted in burnt umber
Sworn to abide by the wisdom of Nat Hawthorn
The terror that befalls us when we’re unaware
Soon free from the slow tolling of the funeral bell
Needful sleep caught us within a nightmare
Unconsciously breaking from a manufactured hell
Visions of dropping acid with William Blake
Dawn is our escape; returning to peace as we wake
Great American notebook
Time to add our verse
Or merely help to tread water
While we all survive
Ringing the ship’s bell
Putting on warm tunes
Honing the proper words
To elevate our voice
For whom the Bell Jar tolls
Chasing demons down the dark hall
Scratching an itch until it bleeds
Beyond a fantasy that wasn’t there at all
Never letting the imposter take hold
Growing larger in our own impression
Sizing up unquestioned confidence
Surviving in spite of a soul’s transgression
Ravens flocking from the bell tower
The monks making sure they’re rung
Her beauty remains alone inside
Time enough for our song to be sung
Captain Q 