Intrigue in Denim
She was intrigue dressed in denim with a whisper of leather. The delicate strength in her voice confirmed she wore lace underneath. A loveliness more than mere surface trimming. Beauty created from diamonds and wisteria petals found deep in her soul. You dare not gaze directly at her, it would be like staring into the Sun. Continue reading
Through A Gypsy Girl’s Eyes
I heard it was Mussolini that made the trains run on time in Italy. Evidently today that statement becomes a dispelled myth. I’m in Florence waiting on my train to Venice and it’s now thirty five minutes late. I don’t mind the delay it gives me an opportunity to observe the Italian gentry. Such serious faces they wear in the early morning rain. The use of their hands flailing about while in conversation amuses me. The visual expression reminds me of my Italian grandfather telling tall tales when I was a youngster.
I speak very poor Italian and rely on my Spanish to communicate. Unlike Germany or France I’ve discovered that few Italians speak English outside of Rome. And right at this moment I’m in no condition to make conversation due to a monster hangover from the mass amount of wine I ingested last evening. Wine has never been a favorite alcoholic beverage of mine, although the quality of all the different types I’ve sampled have proved to be excellent. In some cases I’m convinced Bacchus himself had a hand in their production. Continue reading
One Woman Waterfall
On guard
Weapons drawn
Razor edged dialogue
Cutting deep into the last breath of affection
Words spewing like acid,
staining our masterpiece.
Colors melting into gray
bubbling with the sounds of disaster
“Fuck You’s” crescendo
into the odor of hate
Your Teflon tongue spills explanations
with non stick sincerity
A reservoir of “I’m sorrys”
burst into a flood of tears
You become a one woman waterfall Continue reading
RAMINGO! 