Sunrise in Vegas

The mountain hovers over dappled lights of nightlife disappearing
As the sun rises with sweeping brushstrokes of drop-shadowed orange,
Air brushed over a jagged silhouette.

The contrast ratio changes with the signs of darkness clearing.
Trees and rocks, barely saturated with the glow of orange
Find their way from darkness till sunset.

The Perfect Thing to Say

If I found that perfect thing too early
Then it would be down hill from there
So I let that thing escape me
And blank out in a stare.

That perfect thing to say
Is even harder to discover
When my foot seems to hover
Right in front of my mouth.

Sometimes I dig myself in deeper
Which tells you I’m a keeper
As I stand in a hole and doubt
I can dig myself out.

Late and Time to Pack

My packing delay today
May make me miscount
The amount of socks I need,
Or undershirts to succeed
in not having dirty clothes,
It’s time to pack I suppose.

Answering the Call

It’s usually easy to answer the phone
When I hear something that rings true,
something that I can do.

It’s hard to stay on the line with you
When I wanna be alone
Listening to a ring tone.

Refrigerated Fruit

My mind cannot grapple
With the concept of room-temperature fruit.
Why wouldn’t you want it cold?
When an orange or an apple
Rewards refrigerated pursuit,
All I taste is bold.

Knick-Knack-Slack

Time for me to pick up the knick-knack-slack,
Buy something next to the tic-tac-rack
labeled “impulse buy.”

Rather than walk on by
I can’t help but think back
To the last time I bought a knick knack
And found the purpose
Of a horizontal surface.

Booth or a Table

There’s a question that I meet
When I go in to eat
And there’s a hostess greeting me,
Wondering where she’s seating me,

“Would you like a booth or a table?”
My answer, of course is both please
Or my dinner will be unstable
Balancing on my knees.

If I just had the table, I’d grow weary
Squatting by my food contrary
To the imagined experience I had
Inside my head when I was glad
To dine at a table.

Text Treatment

55% of conversation is body movement.
A body groove sent from me to you
to view.

38% of conversation is vocal inflections
for audible inspections to cage in
the speech I engage in.

Don’t fear the silent treatment.

Fear what I’m misconveying
In 93% of what I’m saying
The things you’ll miss
If I text you this.

Strange place

Your confused face
Reminds me this place
Is entirely new for you.

I suppose that I’m used to it,
But you throwing a fit
With your echoing cries
Makes me realize
That it’s entirely new for you
Which makes it new for me too.