Saturday, July 5, 2025

Don Kingfisher Campbell

Dream Rooms
 
(1)
Darkness arrives,
we take off our eyes,
lock mouths,
wrap limbs,
 
become two
puzzle pieces
on the bed.
 
(2)
Hamsters in the box
with a cut-out window,
huddling close
 
impressing love
on each other's body.
 
(3)
I hug
my decade-long duende.
She strokes the hair
of her incubus
 
wishing
nine lives.
 
(4)
Trucks pass,
phantoms
down the street.
 
We might as well be
on a coupon vacation
at a Dana Point Super 8.

(5)
We breathe in waves
under seaweed sheets,
mussles undulating
on percale beach.
 
We toss and turn
in the flotsam and jetsam
of separate but equal
dream worlds.
 
(6)
Lying at this moment,
other apartments
do what we have done,
 
moan exercise as people
imitate sleep.
 
(7)
If an earthquake comes,
we won't watermelon mind.
 
We'll just hold on
ready for evaluation
preferring mutual breakage.
 
(8)
But the sun rises.
Our minds return
to conscious light,
 
twitter
conversation relay,
door departure.
 
(9)
Until we meet
again in the night,
the nocturnal creatures,
yin and yang,
 
two familiar
with being endangered.





Dog Months
 
First party of summer
better be by June

August is the best,
those longest days
 
A pool is the accessory
for tanning in the sun
 
Sunbathe yourself to match
the watermelon you'll eat

Grill them steaks,
warm that chair
  
Hot dogs
and lemonade
 
Sprinklers on the lawn,
sun visor on your head
 
Mosquito buzz
around croquet mallets
 
Play badminton to the smell
of insect spray

Loud as thunderstorms,
lawnmowers roll on
  
Flowers leap open
as if to scuba dive in blue air

Time to take a volleyball
vacation 
 
After all, why does a lifeguard
wear a swimsuit
 
Except for the wet suit
getting full of sand
 
Fishing in the fall,
but for now, windsurfing season
 
Boating is especially splendid
with iced tea

Miniature golf is easier
than surfing, isn’t it

The real question is, campfire
or picnic

Nothing like road trip
hamburgers

Never forget to let your throat
ride the high tide of soda pop
 





Man + Melon = 

It's definitely not winter
even though my white mug
has blue snowflakes on it

I use a curved spoon to scoop
what could be considered
miniature models of melons

The red pieces are cold
and refreshing as water
only sweeter like kisses

Each bite brings me to
look across at my wife
who also enjoys its texture

Dissolving in our warm mouths
as she empties so quickly her
porcelain now like December

Meanwhile I mentally relish
the technology of seedlessness
while I am pleasantly refreshed

Like a kid ingesting a summer
slip and slide internally--such fun
to feel moist chunks fall down

On a day hot enough to justify
taking a full grown two-handed
weight out of the refrigerator

That lightens my mind spirit to
realize the purpose of this fruit
has been domestically fulfilled

We should all be so lucky to
end up sitting in a stomach
waiting to be reseeded


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