Peculiar


She dared her hair into a fire of sparkles and red white ’n blue dye

arrived dazzling the last 4th of sometime

Her life is wild but it’s not free -so it’s out early this morning walking a Boxer, Bichon and 3 Beagles

that’s the part time gig

between rehearsals for an upcoming movie they’re making for TV

(for the regular folks like you and me)


She’s got that Miss Everybody-Somebody-Nobody,  jet-set joystick jockey ride between the eyes kinda style

there’s water-water everywhere -of every kind and shape -hydration is the one clear constant in her life

untethered in the wind, a kite flying, looping and diving -an exciting idea that may age poorly over time

in the meantime we make deep and true, quick and slow, the devil we know in the long low muscle burn -it’s every her and me for themselves meeting in the middle of nirvana


what she says right now is what she might forget about completely tomorrow

likely a strip mine for the future but anyway today it’s rambles by the succulents and brambles posing with the 12 foot tall marble Buddha, he of the lazy eye, recipient of dying flower offerings spindled around his feet

taking pictures when her lips are in love with whistlin’ Dixie

we blended in with the walking gawking crowd

oohing at monolith glass and chrome houses, flying cars and the inopportune balance of power from a democracy that’s long since gone to ground

where everyone wants to  know how much, they don't wonder about why (how) or where the bodies surely lie


Our next Tuesday and she’s swiping at the strings of her grandmother’s electric Romanian violin, out front a cardboard sign, a sigh, a tip jar -primed with a couple of bucks and change, the Bosch car battery sprouting cables from a red wagon to the loudspeaker blaring out that hole in her soul  

when the show is over we’ll drag that wagon back though throngs of cornucopia crazy -she won’t flinch now

in character, running her lines, splitting the difference between Peter Lorre and Mother Theresa


round and round she goes and what I get I never know

Marilyn Monroe with a wicked head cold

Norma Desmond on a radioactive  day

it’s pinball dizzy full-stop -whether you want it or not and sometimes I wish it would stop  

then she sticks her hands in my coat pockets to warm and our off kilter karma suddenly aligns

we’ll miss the sunset again -I don't mind because I’ve seen it rise in her eyes


she can always change my mind