A.G.E's Joint

Fifteen years. Five cities. Five zygotes Spawned from reflex vibrations Of two people Running from demons Sisters as stair steps Brothers as afterthoughts Glued together somehow In the nomadic quest Of comfort and security Trying to assuage thirst That can't be quenched The zygotes grew And rode the breeze Lives very different From each other. Scattered across North America Offspring scattered further And yet, still connected By the familial bond.

Staring at the screen, the writer ponders what to do.  They need three thirty word stories by Thursday. Are they crazy? The espresso cup is picked up. With a sip, he starts. The harvest moon is setting behind the ridge, larger than when it rose. Billy rises on his elbow and looks down on her profile. Soft bosom rises and falls in anticipation.  Her lips open slightly as they approach. With a sigh, Sarah's life begins. The paces quickens. What was that noise? Looking back to see, she doesn't see the curb.  The driver doesn't see her. And each other's memories are frozen in time. 

Holly came from Miami, F.L.A. Hitch-hiked her way across the U.S.A. Plucked her eyebrows on the way Shaved her legs and then he was a she She says, "Hey, babe Take a walk on the wild side" She said, "Hey, honey Take a walk on the wild side"   Lou Reed, 1972 Before I was married, I was club kid.  From the mid 1970's through most of the 1980's, I could be found at various music venues in Atlanta and Athens. 40 Watt, Little Five Points Pub and Agora Ballroom dictated my schedule with both up and coming and national acts. I was always looking for the next best sound.   Because I was also fooling around on College radio, I occasionally got to meet the musicians and get a feel for where they were coming from and where they were going.   During this time I had a friend, Steven.  A gentle soul, he was the first truly Gay person I spent any significant time with. He was the brother of a girl a bunch of us used to date.  We accepted him for who h

Here we are Alone. Meeting after so many years Why so long? I speak to my friends In this new-fangled online market, I have not set foot here in years It's a lonely, lovely place, I know. Children scattered To the four winds. Not knowing whether  they are alive. Now I come to see you A Sphinx. Not sure why. Maybe to bask in the silence Of the relatives I never knew, And the few I did.   Austen said To look upon verdure was the greatest refreshment. But the oaks and moss Only remind me  Of past time wasted, Time was supposed to explain. Ain't no use complainin' Time to move on.

Hey, Heidy and Howdy!   It’s your randy, dandy old time D.J. Harry Handy.   I'm looking at all you lovely GILF's populating my dreams. Today’s program is truly special for my geriatric group. I know you’ve been keeping with the Miley Cyrus thing?   Actually, I haven’t.   But whole affair centers around her cavorting nekkid across stages with various props and actors.   Kind of like this. Actually, the subject is the lack of respect we old people get from the youngsters out in the world.   They say we are out of touch and irrelevant.   WHERE have we heard those words before?   Why out of our own mouths when we were that age and younger.   And we were LOUD!! And we said the very same things to our parents and grandparents.   Don’t trust anyone over 30.   Give peace a chance! War is wrong! Well that still is the case, but I digress.   Respect for yourself and others has taken a nosedive in this internet age. Take President Obama, for example.   H

The book was on the table, almost even with his eyes. It had an old, cracked binding and no front cover.  Parchment leaves shaded from beige to sienna exposed like he was.   It seemed to shimmer and float, like a magic scroll or talisman. A meaning of a dream, maybe? Dream? Yes. Had to be. Mark tried reach for it, but his arm was pinned under her ribs.  Morning sunilluminated the room, showing their naked forms tossed amongst the sheets. Arms and legs gave like sacks of flour against whatever surface they touched, whether the mattress or each others legs. Not a pretty sight, but who was he to talk? He leaned over and kissed the top of the pale shoulder, drinking in the mix of sweat and Chanel.  It had been so long...  Red and green neon had always taunted as he walked to home from work Blinking "chicken" in light displays in front of him.  He finally gave in and stepped in the bar.  Inside, it looked like a clubroom. Red leather bar, with brass tacks everywher

In the Memphis homicide of Ronald Duck, Sullens and Brick are about to interview their primary suspect, Age, also known as Christopher Mitchell, after he was picked up begging on the street. "Mr. Mitchell?  I'm Sgt Sullens and this is my colleague, Sgt Brick.  How are you today." "Fine.  You look familiar.  Aren't you on that show...what is it?  First Something?" "You've heard of us?  Good, then you know what we are about." "You guys hunt killers.  But, I'm not one of those." "Really?  Anyway, we are investigating the death of a man on Beale St. yesterday and your name has come up in the investigation.  We'd like to hear what you were doing, say about 8:00PM." "I'm homeless, so I was just hanging around the Orpheum singing the blues and hustling money." "I thought you drove a taxi? What happened with that?" "Got fired from that gig a couple of weeks ago. Boss didn

Fly north, Little Bird Out of these backwoods Far from the sheltering arms Of family and friends To the cold, dark city Where they don't care. Stripping the good intentions From your very soul. It was what you wanted It was what you needed And now it's gone Broken on the sidewalk  Never to rise again. 

The face In another age It would be considered Homely Rounded visage Not fashionable Rose petal lips Conservative dress. But with it comes The voice of an angel Plaintive and lamenting The small tragedy of life.