Shiftin’ Gear

A little grey

In the heart and beard,

Big rig pilot rides

Whispering thunder across

Lonely sage-and-snow plains:

As always,

Shiftin’ gear,

Pushing calendar promises

And clock’s ransom demands;

Wry smile lights up the face

As the tune chnages

“Pretty woman, plain woman

Tellin’ a lie

Is just a signal

For the sky

To cry.”

 

All The Colours

curacao-beach-sunset

One pretty evening’s

Never-to-be-repeated shore.

Autumn-beginning’s sunset

Casts her bronze folded nets of waves

Against the welcoming pebble shelves.

They break into scattering strings

Of brief-life jewels as

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