Post Partem

daisy stems are worked
into the braids that wreathe
my lover's head. She is scented
like lilacs drowned
in flame.

in the corner
she yearns
for a spiderweb swept away
on a current of air, cradling
a sonogram picture.
where the spider has gone
we will never know.

News Post

The site has reached its 500+ hits! Thank you to everyone that's visited! I've been working on poems sporadically, but I haven't had the time and dedication to finalize them. When I have a polished poem for you folks, I will post it, but I'm only one man. Maybe I should hire an intern to edit my poems...

Anyway, I'll see how badly my Thursday-Friday work schedule kicks my ass - if I am not totally burnt out by then, you all should see a poem on Friday.

Thanks again to everyone!


Your underground sound,

A.L.J.

On the I-5

The sun sets over the retainment wall,
some shade for the pilgrims who've left the safety
of their air conditioning to get a better look at the reason
their night's plans have been delayed.

Still silhouettes of palms look ablaze through the waves
rising off the freeway. Inching forward in my '89 Oldsmobile,
in between spraying water on my legs, I notice fresh patches
of cinderblock along the wall. They mark other places and times
where lives have been altered.

The wall becomes a close relative to those lost, it
remembers them. It remembers how its face was scarred, changed.
It remembers the lost, their entrance and exit from its life
and how brief that time was.