Today we spoke on

the street after so long it seemed 

weather was the theme 

The blessed sun came 

to him revealing one more

truth: dreams die at dawn

The poetess had

begun her journey towards a

true revelation 

Grey sky burdened with 

thrumming birds waiting for mates

to bring nourishment 

 On the weekend, Earl let his hair down and listened to samba on the hi-fi (but kept the volume on low). 

 the tell-all (a tall tale) lay on the coffee table waiting to reveal its sordid details. 

Carl's facility with the art of conversation had gone from Michelangelo's Sistine Chapel to kindergarten crayon stick figures during the long lonely winter. 

 In this post-truth world, it doesn't matter if this statement is true or not.

 The stillness of the snow-filled moment (momentarily broken by the soft cooing of the mourning doves) soon returned after I tossed a handful of birdseed to them. 

 Will's bitter, biting wit lost its edge with age. 

She built her house amid the old graveyard from the bones of her enemies whom she outlived. 

 Language was a gift and a gaffe-filled trap and a lover who sometimes scorns. 

Fine, opine on the pines, but leave the lectures on leaves to the birds who know better. 

 The lion asked the wildebeest for advice but not liking the answer to his query from his quarry, he ate the old sage. 

 The days slipped away like a slapstick silent film star encountering a banana peel. 

 Stanley seesawed between being too big for his britches to eating sorrow by the spoonful. 

 The demimonde in overpriced denim danced under the glittering disco lights. 

 Cue up the violence then cut to the thoughts and prayers. 

The poet, as he headed towards death, remained as childlike and mysterious as a Joseph Cornell box. 

The snow blew blindly across the barren field.

 The algorithm had already decided their fate and they had no idea.  

Her smile slowly unfurled like one of those rare desert cactus blooms that only emerge once every year. 

 The old man, grizzled and woebegone, claimed he could subsist on no more than beef jerky and whiskey. 

 Recalling the old adage that there were no atheists in foxholes, Art went ahead and prayed just to cover all his bases. 

For Bella, blowing up her life on a regular basis seemed to be her favorite pastime. 

 "See, I told you it didn't work," said the politician after purposefully gumming up the works. 

 He saw the old man and it was he.

 The retiring senator claimed American politics was a bell curve but it was more like a jump rope with the agitators on either end forcing the rest to continue hop(p)ing or go down face-first onto the concrete.  

 Dave doubled down on indulging in January feeling like he had to pick up the slack for everyone else. 

 Rob skipped the resolutions and went straight to the regrets. 

Drool glistened on her cheek as her head lolled to one side long before the stroke of midnight.