Bagatelle for a Literary Friend

Words...
Scooped up, pitched
like snowballs.
Was that a hit?
A face, a leg, a private place?
Laughter.
No rocks, please.

So many words.
Touching without touching,
reaching,
finding just one pattern,
six sides.

You tell me I'm a labyrinth
of endless rooms to lose yourself.
I say, hold hands.

(Published in Valley Writers Guild
"Gristmill" 1998)

Escape

humming on the platform
watching for the train
far from comforts of home

past collides with future
in clouds of pixie dust
dissolving dragons
ransacked compartments
dirty toilets
stained upholstery
or maybe
something serendipitous
brand new

no scripts
no fears
no overdrafts
all gone

Veneer

I never noticed the plastic
building up
layer by silent layer--
I was too busy
unearthing new worlds
to remodel.

Creatrix, disruptrix,
lighting up my universe
with dazzling smiles,
no second guesses.

Ouch!
Why did I let you touch me?
You scratched my veneer!