go ahead and hit me

[25IX08]

symphony of slick tires
on rained road

my fifteen seconds of fame
caught in the headlights

i take a bow for i, too,
am a creature of the night

a whisper on a window competes with pacing footsteps, both from the anxious alone on a rainy night:

i get sad sometimes
like a single lightbulb
on a lonely street.

sitting in the swing, i see a butterfly

[13IX08]

It is a sad commentary on our times
that Darwinian evolution has favored
an ashen-winged butterfly
over its vary-hued sisters.

The drab lepidopteran
flits wraith-like against concrete,
invisible and unbothered
against the monochrome theme
of urban life, while appearing delicately out of place
in the loud company of flowers.

palm reading

[04IX08]

my pen peed all over my hands
and stained my fortune
with rorschach inkblots