Sunday, February 22, 2015


Popcorn cannot forgive
laughter on contact,
joints ceramic without a net.

Go ahead, mock the crush,
call it acting, your clown hands
numb to the sting.

Odd burlesque in a dark ring.
Abrahamic slapstick.
No audience.  No applause.

I sleep on the unbruised side,
lock the dressing room door
dream of crossing the tightrope, a star.

tk/February 2015

A sensitive read by R.A.D. ...

Sunday, February 15, 2015


Words linger unsaid;
no compulsion to fill space.

They are seen in eyes,
the way the head leans to one side;
half-breaths hang luxurious,
simply for the pleasure of it.

Natural rhythms weave calm;
lull without inflection or solution.

We do not rely on talk;
ours is a contented silence,
not at all awkward.

tk/February 2015