Portrait of a well-seasoned man

Small light core on long legs with
Eyelashes ever ready to curl closely round you,
Lifting, but never
Arrogant, always present,
Stirring truth into spice, he disarms
Silence.  

His laundry lines up cleanly
To his  pit pat  on the door-mat.
His jaw, neat and still, in
Grace, unless moved, grows pepper-
Corns which he combs together into his deep warmth.

Untitled

There is no way out, the
Present is everywhere I go;
In every state I stop or start
The only EXIT is sleep;
Unless death is a dream.