Dust, dust, infernal dust:
Mocked! Mortality mocked!
Toil, toil, burdensome toil,
procrastinator born.

I don't see, it's still clean.
I don't see, I don't care.
I don't see, just the wind.
Oh no! Now I see,
I cannot unsee, woe is me!

Dust, dust, infernal dust,
with vacuum be gone!
Toil, toil, burdensome toil,
Adam's curse, is there no escape?

Old dogs don’t like change

I once had a dog
But I had to go abroad
For a month.
She stayed at a luxury kennel
Got fed and groomed and
Given cuddle by the staff.
When I came to fetch her
She was overjoyed
After licking my face
She jumped into the car,
Home James.
She inspected every room
Nothing had changed.
We old people are the same
We are not impressed
By a roomy apartment
We like to live where we belong
Among cobwebs and
And old furniture.

Those that do not learn
Will simply sit stagnantly
Forced to watch you grow

Late into the night,
  the characters become real

As the words that I’ve written,
  cement and congeal

Late into the night,
  they take over my soul

My reality transformed
  —my emptiness whole

(Villanova Pennsylvania: September, 2016)

Dear authors and poets,
                      With works that inspire and bring tears,
                       Do you intend the interpretation?
                       Do you mean what we think?
                       Or do you simply write and let us make-up what we
                       Want to see? What we need to hear?
                       We are taught be scholars the deeper meanings,
                       Metaphors, and life lessons.
                       We give you so much notoriety and acclamation.
                       Is it deserved?
                       Maybe it is maybe it's not.
                       We may never know.
                                                   Sincerely,
                                                                 An aspiring writer

It’s easy to lure sailors in

with a siren’s song

it’s what I’ve always done

it’s easy to reel them in

with the Machiavellian melody of 
red lipstick and Robert Frost quotes 
the cadence of raspy vibrato 
the aroma of blue roses
Every nail painted 
Every word calculated 
It’s always so easy

and we dance for a while 
they twirl me around 
enchanted by my pirouettes 
And we drink the wine 
and we watch old films
and it’s beautiful

for a time

But alas 
nothing gold can stay

and I take the road less traveled

I become too much

too hard to reach

too deep

too far under the sea

buried in Davy Jone’s Locker

And they sail away

to the other side of the world

and drop the memory of me off the edge of it 
I’m alone

again 
because the sun always sets on the Jersey Shore
 
Some women fear that they’re not enough
I fear that I’m too much

But not for him

He wandered over all by himself 
I didn’t have to sing a single note

there were no more cadences to whisper 
he made me want to speak the truth

there was no upper hand

so I grabbed onto his

I started living in my body

instead of in my shadow

He stormed by beach

and took away my suffering

He never left

no matter how hard it got
He stayed when I lost my voice

and he helped me get it back

When I got dragged down too deep

he dove to the bottom of the sea to find me 
He helped guide me to the surface

He helped me remember how to swim. 
 
- Mythology of Loneliness

Rhymes?
who the hell's a rhymer?
that's for 'old goats'
and not for this
old timer.

but for old time and his sake
I'll make an effort,
put in some leg work
( at minimum pay)

It can be done
not much fun
but
it can be done.

If there's a hierarchy
in poetry,
I'm not employed by them
and
they're no use to me.

I skitter across the floor
and
skitter's a word that's not
used any more.

I'll skitter anyway