Lost echoes of a baby boom ...

Dreams were made of nights like these:
stale tobacco blowing in the breeze,
beer spills left from the night before,
giggling faces flowing out the door,

cigarettes, whiskey, and wild crazy women
through the purple haze ever dancing and singing --
singing "Sex, and Drugs, and Rock and Roll."
We kept on dancing so we'd never grow old.

We were dancing shadows against the wall --
dark shadows in a flashing hall
where crimson and horizon blue,
pressed against a starker view,

We were pulsing beats that shook the floor
and rattled the windows ever more.
The ceiling ached from our refrain --
shrieking echoes of a primal brain.

We were disembodied troglodytes,
walking fish, stromatolites.

We were carbonated fire and ice,
permutations from the roll of the dice.

November Morning

Gold punctuates dawn.

Bird bursts in celebration

no Ragnarok song.

Detritus pools gold.

The bite of winter’s herald

blasts  two minds at war.

Pace punctuation:

4 dog trudges, 2 human,

breeds conversation.

Crimson spectrum bleeds

pastel blues, brightening moods.

Heartbeats crescendo.

Hot water, cold air

condenses Lake Accotink.

Smoke on the water.

Marching 2:1,

pace quickens after squirrels.

Odors tighten leash.

Breakfast beckons home:

bacon and eggs and coffee

with Crashing the Net.

Millionaire Rap

What do I care if you’re a millionaire?

You don’t breathe my common air

What do I care about the shoes you wear?

You don’t follow my footsteps.

What do you care about the neighborhood?

You don’t feel the child who can’t read,

Who can’t compute without a calculator,

Who refuses to eat the free lunch

Not because he isn’t hungry

Not because he feels entitled,

But because you wouldn’t feed it to your dog.

What do I care about the car you drive?

I’m not showing up in your arena.