cold mornings

"your lips looks
positively glacial"
he remarks
and i reply
"they froze
in the wind"
glazed and fired in a
kiln.
if he makes a move
use a little teeth
and his lips will become
frost-bitten.

a woodpecker spoke to me
this morning
in foreign tongues.
it sounded like the
sun early rising
over a sparse hill.
he spoke to me words of
wisdom
and taught me the secret to
life.

a man kept pace with me
blue shirt, blue sunglasses
and never spoke a word.

round the corner
and come face to face
with a vanity-riden
brown on brown.
side step
and exhale.