Bar-b-ques abound.
Acceptable feces counts...

We got him when "the girl" was four,
A show dog the breeder rejected...

Antique chairs invite.
To sit would be to accept the inevitable...

The streets are white and crisp and new.
My thoughts turn to the crows...

The job of a poet, to enlighten the world,
And show us what it can be...

Sun setting over plains of desire.
Shadows get longer next to our fire...

The Sandman Inn looks at me,
Across the parking lot...

You come home to a wagging tail,
And licks to the face...

Three years married now.
A life effected forever...

So tired these days.
Working too hard I guess...

Who is the girl that I call my own?
A vision that's risen from loveliness sown...

Two years since words in cyberspace
Two years since first contact...