Not a word
not even a whisper
the last chord is struck
silence forever-

spring in its infinite splendour
heralds in the brightest flower
in the dying light of the heartless winter
all its petals droop and wither.

I awoke in faded aspirations
Fulfilling the solicitations
Of her body,
Crime and passion
Without order and no constraints
On what time it actually is:

And look at at you,
Your hungover yet its with
Slow motion in film,
A kodak momentum
And you end up taking my smokes,
Last time it was the beer,
Im smiling this time,
And I know my tequila morning
Still has a scent of lime,
And I find hope in your half
Finished smoke,
I light the cherry
And i taste your lips,
With you it just gets worse
And im grateful for it,
You have a grace
That refills my drink
Of accepted frustrations, the good stress,
Because we know what we see
Together, what faith to
Destructive grace,
The real struggle is to miss you
Like my bed does,
And yes I want my mistakes to mean something even if i never learn,
Il be with you,
And with the bad
You take the good,
And the bad you didn't
Know they had,
Loyalty and blind
Raptured moments,
Woman....
              
woman......

**** I feel alive

Same Old Problems

I guess poetry
is like
that at times

whether or
not
we try for
rhymes

when she's quiet
decides to snub

do we go after
her
with a club

do we do
that
to our muse

is there such
a thing
as muse abuse

guilty here
sometimes

but is that
really
such a crime

cough it up
I know
it's there

it's there
somewhere

do not be
stubborn

come on
now

you know
you
know how

and I did not
stutter

out comes
the club
a threat

I'll get something
out of you
yet

but

nothing
               nada
                       zilch
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