When I saw you across the aisle, I held the arrow that Eros had just flung in me.
Your radiant smile, your luminous skin, your flaxen hair…
Then you looked at me… and I thought I knew.
When we locked eyes at the theatre for the very first time;
Through the crowds, through the clamor, amongst a thousand people or more,
It seemed to me that only you were there in silence… and I thought I knew.
With fumbling feet like a loon I made my way to you, through the throng -
Stumbling, tripping, and with no regard to grace or composure… but soon to you.

Shapes...

Punching away shadows, dark, floppy shapes.
Back where they came from, the dirty street.
Lights smothering the black, inky abyss, the pockets.

Above the silken, ebon blanket,
a silver, sinister grin from the ghostly moon,
changing shape, from horns to mirrored glow.

I had a friend, Neanderthal
he stood about six foot high
I met him at the do-drop inn
on a sultry Saturday night
his mind was sharp, his hands were fast
intelligence in his eyes
his art was hapkido
a black belt by his side
the evening hot and sultry
his bullet-bike just outside
a cowboy to be reckoned with
stepped up with him to vie
the night was hot, the din increased
within the little dive
when in a flash he grabbed my friend
a full nelson he applied
against the bar room wall

It rises 140 feet above ground,
jutting upward like an awkward mushroom
painted white, its tank boasting our little
town's proud name - Greenfield.

And there really are green fields here, too.
Corn and soybeans, mostly,
rotated to help preserve the soil.

Corn depletes, soybeans replenish.

The water tower stands high on its hill
like a watchman, guarding the crops, buildings, and houses,
policing the streets leading in and out of town.