The Shamrock Cafe

On the evening of "The Incident" there was a massive explosion (or rather what I thought was an explosion at the time) right out front of the Shamrock Café sending asphalt shrapnel across the roof and up against the white brick of the chimney column.

I stood what I thought was a solid distance away and watched in a rare moment of awe (Super’s have seen it all) as the fires ripped through the ground and the universe began to ripple and tear across  HWY 189- dog-gone-it right where I stood. Hidden in the shadow of the redwoods next to my alpine green '67 fastback sync-wrapped in an invisimatter cloaking cover, I began to wondered if this mission had been such a good idea after all.

Late September Ritual.

Sweet autumn.

Mabon love
Steeped in black tea.
Faithful stain of loneliness.
Auburn firefly flits a dash of hope on sprite wings
Tugs at lady skin and youth gone by.
Coarser hairs and deeper lines.
Time traipses by as
she hedonist turns to she heroine turns to she hermit. 
Three she-faces turn and stare at each other.
Holy water tears from original source.
Emerald green eyes blink back another turning of the year.