1 New Poem

Sun On Nice

Wastes of time and space,
blank expanse of still evenings,
creep up grassy ground in need
of spacious lightning, downpour logic;

that tin-eared taste of ocean rings lip,
lemon scent in water cooler dissolving,
for ramparts there in hindsight
crackled of brushfire maple.

Enjoy the Riviera’s signature tie,
split separate from the whole ride
home you make a point of
pinning to glovebox map line;

Isn’t anything there now,
more shocking than turning
reveal for showman’s pride
that keeping of amusement portraits,

I had but use of quick-spark for.