Cities of Dreams In the Music City and my hometown, I watched them dig a massive grave, a concrete foundation for a multi-storied office building aka a mausoleum, where all our dreams are traded for debt and filed away. © SB Joy, 2022 Chasing the dream, not everyone becomes a soccer star, an Olympian or …

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Ancient Auntie Blue eyes I’ve never meet, but knew, an ancient auntie perhaps – kinder than my mother – said: “you look like an actor.” Mother, hellbent on filling my life with her story, said: “my hair was wasted on a man.” My distant auntie goes on: “You’ve got the stare of an empty parking …

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Before Leda was Greek, She was Irish The history of love started with pigtails, freckles and green eyes. Before man’s concern with the tragedy of clocks, down comforters and four hundred thread count sheets of Egyptian cotton dyed straw yellow. Before sky had the name blue, before chemistry, before, before… Love shamelessly danced naked on …

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The Blue Hole Mermaid I saw a woman standing on a wet rock ledge A cool river flowing inches from her feet Rocks and sun and bushes and trees A cascading canyon punctuated by a blue hole Teaming with swim-her’s and swim-he’s Her black hair straight and wet, shoulder length Streaming streams soaking the ashen …

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Dried Skin Becoming dust is how some die. The collecting of white dust on the dashboard, sofa and nightstand flakes, dried skin, from the old man as he slowly peels away. © SB Joy, 2022 This is from the: Old Man series. Many years ago I looked after an aging alcoholic step parent. I had …

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