I want you to be sorry
and you never will be.
it's always the same
I want
and you deny
I want
and you lie,
but I know about lying
I'm adept.
exceptional in the field.
part of me thinks I learned from you,
part of me knows I knew the whole time.

He has no face
or desire
to face
the large grate

And inside
the wicket of the grate
The little door
to the larger gate

One side named narrow

The door ****'s
apprehensions
twist in the fingertips

The other side
slides to the indifference

The 69 peep holes rock in
scandalization

How does one survive ?

The false prophet goes
door to door
selling sheep skin
diplomas
black as raven's hair

His false fruit
lays fermenting adding
pollution to our despair .

The prophet's basic fault is full of self interests
For gain and grain of easy life
For personal prestige
through others pain and strife

His man-centered words
appeal to the ears that want to be tickled with ear candy

And the results are that truth be forgotten , trampled to dust and thrown away

Beware of the smooth tongue Jacob with
the rough hairy hands
of Esau .

The stars were not to blame
Nor the ocean between us
Or even that dreadful place
We used to call home

It was only you and me
Always a little too wrong
And maybe just a little
Too late

When I read
poems from the past,
I barely understand them.

I try, yes—
but they are minds
from another time.

It takes time
to connect with them.

Then I imagine myself:
will they, in the future,
read the poems I write to you
and understand
anything at all?

Sometimes I ask myself —

why people meet,

why feel an instant connection

with a stranger,

why an invisible thread pulls

so strongly?

Is it destiny,

or just random

cosmic events?

a wisp in the night
you are a flame I followed
till the ends, till you went out
and left me in the pitch black
all alone.