atlantic city,
late night on a saturday;
first time on the slots.

lost my poem book,
name and address penned inside;
lost, half-baked haiku.

having not attained
quite the lofty state she has,
we are not the same.

the rapid ticking
of a coasting mountain bike
blends with the crickets.

on your side I’d be
if only the reasons why
still made sense to me.

water over stone,
falling down the mountainside,
cools the scenic path.

thank you israel;
we love your idea of
measured responses.

from between the two
smoothest scoops of vanilla
[he] had ever known

celebrate yahoo
for speaking the truth about
drm’d content.

why do you obsess
over magazine pictures?
you’re worth more than this.

blazing hazel eyes,
burning like country hillsides
bathing in wildfire.