the words have come and gone,
I sit ill.
the phone rings, the cats sleep.
Linda vacuums.
I am waiting to live,
waiting to die.
I wish I could ring in some bravery.
it's a lousy fix
but the tree outside doesn't know:
I watch it moving with the wind
in the late afternoon sun.
there's nothing to declare here,
just a waiting.
each faces it alone.
Oh, I was once young,
Oh, I was once unbelievably
young!
from Transit magazine, 1994

I've spent decades numb, without purpose
Everything looks grey sepia when I reflect.
I always longed to feel, really feel;
not bourbon soaked tears but real regret.
And so this crooked path took shape.
Through its bumps and boulders I've stumbled and bled,
needing for once not to lead but be led,
never thinking beyond the next step I take.

I want to look into another's eyes and resonate,
to be loved for, not in spite of the crooked path I take.
I want for once not to feel alone
but warm, real and connected.
The only thing worse than being lonely,
Is being lonely no matter whose company you keep.
If I'm awakened is there anyone out there not asleep?