Bare Feet and Feathers

A love letter to adolescence A mid-life manifesto. Phosphorescent beasts bragging bright Preened and pretty, precocious and precarious. Damnable, dancing on dewdrops of sin. Strutting and teasing. Singing and aching. Sorrow sent sailing into the eye of God. Celebrating shock in raucous bacchanal Banged up and worn down The obvious eroded Ten molecules of a teen Collected in an eddy of glory Ten minute bulwark bides the torrent Count a tick. Count a tock. Watch the… Positing poetry in the eye of progress. Chrysalis sintered by the agony of aging Bitterness hitchhikes on adverbs and politics Amuses and suffuses. Oozes and diffuses Spackling life’s cracks in lieu of suffering Our bored and bright have grown bitter with fright For lack of a life they have never known. Glide into the glades of a Goddess Dance naked on the edge of a field Find your body where you left it Dress yourself in starlight and dew. Celebrate your soul and evaporate youth. Shatter the g...

Play with my hair. Pull the world in as close as the last drops of Long Island Sound that slip from your swimsuit down across the back of your thigh. Play with my hair under freckles of laughter, syllables and chirps, that christen us like parades of soap bubbles floating from the abstract crowd. Play with my hair before we play in the surf where we’ll shock parents. We’ll be inappropriate, the way we keep touching. We’ll blast “Youth!” in spite of our age. Play with my hair Our whispers sequester The crowd and claim this blanket As the Nation of Us Our consensus of two Inviolate, immutable and perfect.