‘Hobo Rhapsody’ Let your troubles roll by, like broken axles on Tonka trucks, treaded plastic, rolling doughnuts. Grandpa’s toothpicks weren’t tough enough for a hard day’s work, dropping dirt from the back fence to the patio, where his son stood. Farther away than interest could, wrapped in a dense cloud of cigar smoke, rocking on the deck wood, heel to toe, and the embers glowed and burnt lungs as hope— faded. Let your troubles roll by with rolling papers, a pinch of tobacco, chasing highs, dodging lows. Only after cramming numbers, like gunpowder chambered, and the dealer showed a blackjack smoking over a hidden heart— ace card. I flipped past a suicide king, tarnished by a four, outs diminishing, then a two, poor house blues, hitting on sixteen, picking metal strings. I was destined to slap rhythm on a pick guard, or lose chips to this dealer, turning up homeless and dreaming of bright lights or a backyard. If only I knew what it was like to win with pockets of gold, or even nickels— but the slots took those too. Under a bridge, shivering, a starry blanket glistening, knotted back, writhing, the thanks I get for gambling. Let your troubles roll by. A vagabond, hopping railroad ties, nipping scotch in town after town, dusty tumbleweed, no trust left for God or me. I fight rolling mountainsides— peaks cresting then crashing to wheat plains, incessant clacking, a watch keeping time waiting for the coda or a final line. -N&A

#NAlove #heart #prompt 🔊🎧 ‘Weather and Wings’ I gather the thunderstorms, under pressure, warm, palms raw, bent back, with the lightning cracking, and my heart stops from the shock. The rain tastes like salt, heavy clouds caught in your eye’s vault, knotted. I’m a caged bird, clipped wings, sore ribcage, singing lipless, and I’m quite close to high notes. But as you feel my frequency, I fold in the current. It’s your face that pulls me. Magnetic eyes sink in my mouth, down my notes, as I swallow the air and parrot your movements, even crow for relief, finding none. Wind is a sound, and I’m drowning. My ears fill with guns and fire; until my flapping tires, and I make a nest in your chest— a place to count eggs and beg for sunny days, or the end of the week. And you hear me, over torn fronds, thunder in a psalm, and the church steeple’s just our fingertips communing. The body is not that of Christ, but it is in the image of God, so we feast in one flesh. You sip the gust from my fingers, and I tweet poems like this, nestled, as we watch the sky. -N&A

‘Haunts and Shadows’ You’re just a silhouette, cut against a blue sky, far away from me; can’t trace your lines, but I keep trying as your shadow grows. I wish we never met. I used to be serene, but I like the melancholy, the way it tugs me. You make me sad-happy, happy to be sad, glad to be alone. Every mile spreads our hearts thin, but they beat together still. Apart, but I feel you, when your ghostly shape whispers and a chill— You know what I mean goosebumps and a thrill. I’m a cold son of a bitch, draping your length over my shoulders, folded to huddle in front of a modern-day hearth. O-LED, leading me to waste away, watching souls sway, communing with trapped spirits, dancing the decay of our society as our values grey and I unzip. Sipping filtered water, thinking filtered thoughts, and I am what I’m not— a shadow, a specter, an echo caught in the night, or even by your light but I’ll never know it, though you might, shining like you do. And I’m not good enough, and I’m not strong, and I’m not brave, and I don’t make mistakes. And I think about you too much, so here I am, as I am, or as I’m not, resonance with either thought. Just hold me close once, to pretend to touch— trachea, bronchial, uvula, and my tongue’s full, words tangled, caught in your hair again, finger brush, harbinger of flush as weaved braids. You can’t breathe, but you’re ready to live among the famous, because you’re my star, falling as you play the greatest hits, dulling bits, so hard; now lost in the midst. -N&A