100 Mile Road

I stumble across a fire opal in the middle of the highway and pick it up and there’s a honey-bee buzzing inside. The opal is the honey-bee. And as I hold the bee in my hand, all kinds of flowers and roses and honey pour out of it and the bee turns into a nightingale and bursts into song as the first star of evening pricks the lilac edge of the horizon.

The Story of the Yes Man

We had danced when I first visited Berlin. I was surprised that It Guy had wanted to dance with me. I was still operating under OSYankee.

But when I returned to Berlin I had upgraded my operating system to OSPirateQueen, so I was not surprised when he wanted to dance with me all over again.

the morning commute.

Faces slips through
the cracks between
train carriage windows.
One by one
Three by four
until the blur of bodies
And rising voices
Become one moving being,
Inhaling and exhaling
the excesses of the city.

Tanzen wir, oder?

Flashing lights illuminate
sweaty, exuberant faces
and I tilt my head back
reaching my arms to the ceiling
and examining my fingers
as they intertwine
and create their own dances,
as though aware of some other rhythm.

Tick tick

Time
slips through
my grasping fingers
as I search
for something tangible
to pin my spindling
thoughts to,
caught like threads
and tangled up.