Jugular Vine

Green tendrils twine tightly
holding heavy clusters of dark purple grapes,
Hanging hidden, sweet and dark and full to bursting,
They peek out from between the leafy emerald shadows
to flirt with sunbeams, wanting warm kisses.
Grinning green faces form in the leaves,
mosaics of leaves weave larger faces,
all guardians of the rich violet jewels.

Hot Burger Love

Wendy’s so hot and juicy tonight.
“You want the works?” she asks, licking her lips.
Smiling coyly, she studies me.
She is fresh.
I am hot.
I nod.
She smiles then drops her gaze and asks,
“Jack’s in the box?”
“Not yet,” I reply. “He’s still in the bag.”
“Home of the whopper,” she murmurs
as she unwraps my package.

The Haunted Grave

While wandering through the cemetery
On a lovely day in February
I spied a hand a ’thrusting from a grave.
Digits scrabbling in fresh-turned earth
With a dreadful lack of mirth,
An arm pushed finally from the ground
Fingers spidered up the mound
And eventually they found . . .

La Purisima

Mission bells chime in arched steeples of white washed adobe
Ringing in darkness, calling the dead to midnight mass
In a deserted chapel.
Slave labor to a foreign god
They kneel to sing praise at altars
On hard-packed earth
To thank a faceless god of judgment
For allowing them to toil
From dawn ‘til dusk

The Boardwalk at Candle Bay

The amusement park stands in the sand by the pier
silent with sounds it once knew.
Faded walls peel red, yellow, blue,
distorted quiet reflects in a mirror.
A fear surrounds me, there is no clue
to what it is,
I wish I knew—
It astounds.
 

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