Ol' Dude

ur a bitch

First Love Song

symptom of life

Guy's Girl

FK IT

Not Asking For Much

The Ranch

I hate your face

BUTTERFLIES

Strut

a small arc, two notes leaning

First there was a room with the afternoon dust,
chairs in a crescent, cups with a crust.
Coin on the counter said wait, then go,
door had a bell with a honeyed low.
Thread took a breath, then crossed the lane,
needle of chance through cloth of plain.
You set your sleeve by the window bright,
I tuned my voice to a kinder light.
Laugh on the rim of a porcelain lip,
steam wrote a swirl like a figure’s slip.
Eyes did the work that names delay,
shape met shape in a woven way.

sweet little wondering, fiddle I found

found the hem of a thread in marrow and mind

chance or stance, was it play or dance

better or weather, we leaned into time

listen and see the play to be

be gestalt, press rewind

one ticket please to the theater of mind

take your seat, silence please, it’s about to begin

small white clouds and love has been

been a loop and a line we name but can’t make straight

faith in a figure eight

Table was shy, yet the corners smiled,
somehow the ordinary turned a little wild.
Sugar on a saucer drew constellations,
talk moved soft through small migrations.
You said your city, I said my street,
stories unspooled with a stumble of feet.
Was it the shoulder, the mutual tilt,
was it a hinge in the house we built.
Two cups cooling into the gold of luck,
jazz magician’s trick where the coin stays stuck.
Thread met thread at the crossing place,
knot chose a bow and the bow chose grace.

sweet little wondering, riddled and round

found a seam in the spin, a sign in the sound

was it chance or a choreographed glance

either way weather said please advance

listen and see the scene to be

be gestalt, set to rewind

one ticket more for the theater of mind

take your breath, hush the din, let the curtains thin

small shy clouds and yes, we begin

line loops line till the loop looks straight

faith in a figure eight

Name the circle without a flinch,
call it a tide that moves an inch.
Call it a thread that turns then stays,
call it a vow in ordinary days.

Weave what wavers, spare what breaks,
love is a craft of patient takes.

Hands in a rhythm the body knows,
kissing the place where pattern grows.

Streetlamp blinked and the evening bent,
we read our luck like a document.
You dropped a line that caught a smile,
I signed below in a borrowed style.
We walked the curb with a circus care,
balancing baskets of common air.
Maybe it’s will, maybe it’s weave,
maybe it’s how we choose to believe.
Two small tickets, one soft door,
usher said enter and be a more.
Past becomes present when present is kind,
future arrives with a curious mind.

sweet little wondering, listen to ground

Found the hem of a thread where our names are wound

stance into chance, and a dance into glance

better by weather, we risk the advance

listen and see the play we be

be gestalt, press rewind

one ticket still to the theater of mind

take your seat, silence please, it’s nearly begin

small warm clouds and love walks in

loop after loop where we meet at the gate

faith in a figure eight

Free found form and foam

play of the play, played in home

home

faith in a figure of eight

I hate your face

ALEMEDA

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