The Past is a learning curve
Don't dwell in what was
Time to enjoy
What that is up to you but do it
Regrets are useless
No need to embellish
We have all been there
Sometimes with frierds and loved ones.
Sometimes on your own
Happiness,Joy.The Very Best of Everything Always
Going Forward

When I was the age of a landscape
I used to write letters
And that changed all the noise of solitude

A breeze coming from the sea was still a piece of childhood

Later,
there were so many winters followed by so many silences
I had thousands of days with fever and heat

an impenetrable black light — full of varicose veins —
fell upon my solid shoulders like a raw and symbolic pain,
a call to the sacred, to the memory of a more carnal time, full of guilt,
more imperfect, where breathing was an authentic act,
a formula of instinct, of abandonment or return, perhaps.

I dreamed — a change of scene — I took off my best suit, folded it over my knees,
and entered the forest like an animal inventing itself.

I was starving in
Pennsylvania.
One night, I had
enough.
Done with it all.
The poverty and
sickness.
The drunken mad
nights
and dog-fight days.
Brutality for breakfast.
Served sunny side up
runny yolks with
butterflies trapped in
the yellow sunshine.
Spiders built webs in
my soul.

I stood on the torn-up
couch in my living room and
yelled at the walls.

Listen, you devil.
You want me, you better be
ready for a fight.
I paced the floor like a
washed-up heavyweight champ,
eyeing the ceiling like a
drunken sparrow in a cat's mouth.

God answers the prayers
I don’t remember praying.
My prayers are just stepping
stones to a better reality.
If I die this year I’d feel that
way about my last prayer.
My bitterness will stop injecting
itself into my fantasies.
My butterflies grow obese
because of the magic.
I’ll keep trying to grow
past all of this tragic.
I’ll stop living everyday as if
it’s  already the future.
It makes my Time Machine
into a ready guillotine.
My depression and happiness
hug for the first time.
They have not been intimate
long enough it seems.

Cool morning shadow
Along a park’s wooded lane
Honeysuckle blooms