Someday you may
paint me.  Not
in a scramble
to remember,
because not everyone must
feel they will miss
another point or
appointment.  Maybe
not a portrait, sitting
slickly attired.  Not
everyone must
think that what they
wanted, they misconstrued.
Just a picture of a wrist
with a monogram on an
eighteen carat chain.
Since you would
rather transform
than trade away.
You’ll buff up this
image with a palette
that does not give
away any secrets.

RB 01 04 2017

Man sacrifices health in order to get rich. Then sacrifices wealth to regain health. Is too anxious for the future to enjoy the present. So lives neither in the present nor the future but like death will not come, dying never having lived.

Not so much
A pull on the
Cigarette as
Letting a drift
Of smoke be
A quiet companion

Not so much
An indulgence
Held as its
lightly
Felt in the hand
My only baccarat
Around a few sips
Of lagavulin

Not so much
a vice as a
way to pass
some days
of sun on
the deck
alone with
pretty lucie.

RLB, 11-19-2016

Compliments are a party favor
That roll from the tongue
With no chance for you
Though for wrong reasons
Turned true
The house and
The kids from a
Life before
without reason to talk
In your tight grip
In all misalignments
The end of tomorrows
As if at the kitchen
Door
With something to
Borrow.
A headlong collision
Immediate passion
Decades in endless
Obsession.

RLB 10/24/2016

You became a child again
saying that a kiss
would bring
a last undying spring.
And all you hadn’t had
til then.
You were called
by someone
who left behind all
others so only
you would matter.
While you were
loved by someone
who’d gave you less than
than that til then.
You were loved
by someone who wanted
you to love him
yet let the word goodbye
become a
gift for you to leave him.
And more than all
he’d given.
You became a child again
on the verge of laughing
on the verge of crying
As I became
a vagabond
wishing you goodbyes
And whatever had
been promised then,
lost with this departing.

I talk about dreamliners
Pleated curtains
The world left behind
Put in hands
trusted and dignified.
The people residing
in towns laid to rest for the night.
I imagine as
they’re blissful
and words I
say, are as you want.
You ask how
without upset
tomorrow
will be as good
as today.

RLB 10 13 2016

I think it might be bliss
as our eyes can’t quite adjust
as the dress rehearsal
lets out in the
phosphorescent light.
I think it is contentment
that is casual perfection
in strolling down
the streets of yards
that bloom without a
thought to end yet.
It’s just a guess or story
we tell to
make their lives
a romance though we
see them
only in a window.
Little thought is given
As the open
club door
lets blue notes carry
their way to freedom.

rlb 06-30-2016

Sara Louise Miller Witt

7 17 2015

You devour my spirit

so completely

that my resistance

just feels wrong

like when my eyes

feast on those gorgeous lips

that live in my head

when you’re gone

I’ll respire your struggles

into my breaths

despite the layers

someone stripped away

and if this love can’t

take care of the rest

I’ll trade my soul

for what yours can’t pay

02 05 2008

If I cut my hair
And between the
Fingers, pinch the line
Hoping it reaches
Far away into
The ancient past,
Running down the
Orange and red
Silk dress edge,
And the marble
Shudders and what
Was resolved, does
Not fall, it yields
And warms like
The morning light
Of melted butter.
With each plea and
Promise, with each
Wish for words to
Give love its confidence,
Like a reel skipping
along
Leaving nothing permanent
On a blankened wall.
With each month or
Cloud that passed in
Distraction, the shelves
Unburdened, a chance
An interlude, lacy minutes
Could have come
And gone, the melting
Glass taking in
The air, inspiring,
a cooling curve
That rings then
With passion

RLB