Happy Hour

Oh, I need a good dose of you
sliding down smooth and easy.
Fill my veins with blue fire
after I've been drawn through
this sieve of a day.

Just need a shot of your skin
to bring me together again.
The tingle in my fingertips shows I'm
reconstituted like science fiction.

The recipe is facile:
add one other whose atoms
have the right electrons
to bind and dance
with my own.
You.

Ballast

I knew a man
whose house was never
silent

he kept his radio on
to anchor him

he was afraid
that if his mind
had nothing
to keep him
in touch with today
it would take him
somewhere past tomorrow

I haven't seen him for a while--
maybe he turned off his radio.