Here there, little man

Watcha doin here

On the dusty roads where

Pick ups and bajos

Are king?

Take back your Armani suit-

It don’t mean nothing here.

===

She sits, dreaming of places yet to be

Paris, Mali, Verona, Madrid.

Perfectly oblivious to the fact

That the sun is shining on

Her too-young face

And the brick before her

That was hand carved.

====

White dust bunnies descend

Through the sunlight,

Dodging between the brackets

Of a white window blind.

This is the only kind of

Snow you’ll see in Florida,

I whisper to myself

As I stare at the negative space

Between me and the clothes you threw on the floor.

====

The wine dark sea

Envelopes you, Penelope.

Your sweat drenched back

Gathers grains of sand

And they become your diamonds.

Ithaca cries for you, lady,

You half window,

Un accepting of suitors.

“Do you not understand,” they say

“That your husband is gone?”

You have no reason for diamonds.

You deny all suitors,

Content with laying yourself into the sea,

Whispering his name into the wind.