Like Wine

I haven't found
the bad poem
(and I've tried a few).
Designed purely,
intentionally
whether sour, too dry,
sickeningly sweet
it is what it is.
And when one
touches you
like wine
you'll be back for more
taste it again
finish the bottle alone
lie still, drunk
maybe open another
but more slowly this time.

Reflected

Blood black grape
        tempranillo

robust

          yet restrained.

familiar?
                                 yes..

Proposal

To a new word!
Lifeing
(noun and verb)
because Living
is for doctors and scientists
to maintain
and Hobby
gets no respect
plus that's not what I mean

I mean the thing
the act
of being most Alive
besides breathing and eating
and technical life

Technically alive people
people with life, technically,
are Dead

Practice Lifeing
its seed
Passion
grows till it's
bigger than you
then it eats you
and you stop being Dead

Make every breath
food for Lifeing
be Alive
know Life
shun Death

Valley Pew

You must know
the hot sun
that tingles the skin
at the very end of summer

Some people say
we have no seasons
but how wrong

Here they are
whispered gifts
for the faithful seer
the believer

The hot sun brushes
tickles like a feather
down my spine
enticing me to rest

But it's only a short visit
to this secluded temple
of faith

Reprise

Oh, my old, forgotten town,
I was just fine hating you.
Wasn't missing you at all.
Then you send me love notes
before I leave to come see you --
just wanted to say goodbye,
it's over, and be on my way.

Now here I am in your bed, naked.
I drink the chill from the river;
you smoke.
For breakfast we'll cook the meat
of our memories.
I'll dress and leave.

But when I go and find myself
in the arms of another place,
I may all the while
compare it to you --
my old, forgotten town.

Costing Nothing, Where Sales Tax is Almost 10%

(In response to Jean Young Smith's "Costing Nothing.")

There are times, too, when the moon
          is shrouded in the light and smog
and the buzz and whir of traffic
          and urban hubbub
puff into my open window, like exhaust
          and cannabis, bringing me
great peace. Falling to sleep
          comfortably,
I am thankful, too, for these things
          that cost nothing.

Atlanta

Steady pace through the elixir night,
I am neither here nor there,
neither in past nor future.
I only am.
I am dressed in night shades.
You cannot see me
but for my bare shoulders
glowing in the street lamp light.
I breathe
and the miles and Atlas' weight
softly slip away.
Gaia guides my left leg,
and Eros takes my right.
I am flying, but for when I choose
to tap down in perfect cadence.
In my own sound space,
I miss what the wild oracle says to me
as I pass her in the crosswalk.
It was probably something crazy,
but I'll pretend she said,
"You're beautiful."