Cranky poets make me smile
So many excuses for lack of style...

Would that this road
had been a bit smoother...

She stands before her mirror
A woman well past her prime...

Leaving today, back to the place
Where my heart continues to sing...

Every Afternoon at Four
Every afternoon at four o'clock...

Sandstone monuments rise
above the valley floor...

Silver bells and cockle shells,
overdue bills in a row...

What is this? Surely you jest!
A gigantic oxymoron contest...

As there he vanished to the night
A zephyr wafting through the mind...

Angels of death walk these halls
Waiting, waiting in unholy dark...

I stalk the aisles for a magic potion
A mask, a cream, a wonder lotion...

Bend the knees, lower the butt
To pick up that penny, the only thought...