Candles in all the windows,
   on a blizzard night.
Icy self reflection
   of a face, of fright.
Prayers in frosted breath,
   hope you're alright.

I’ve got 61 volumes, with over a thousand files
Some full of crying, some full of smiles
I’ve got volumes of love, volumes of life
There’s a lot about me, a bunch about my wife

I have a few funny ones, you know I’m a cynic
I’ve got rants about the world, everybody’s in it
I go on and on about people, all different kinds
When I post online, we poets share our minds

I’m always writing, since about 1975
It keeps me humble; it keeps me alive
Sometimes my writing is off the top of my head
I’ll be writing poems, at least until I’m dead

Left with what
You have
Far behind thee rest
Primeval locations
Stolen moments
Harder to
Fine what’s right
When it’s looking you
Right in thee face
Carnivals lost cites
Chaos to follow
A million shattered dreams
Rolled into one
Heads in thee clouds
Hearts on a table
The colors
Of life have varied
In and out of consciousness
Searching repeatedly
For a warmth that
Could never outrun me
And outlast all eternity
Contagious flesh
I’m far from prefect
Sins a plenty
I’ve had my fair share
They may be forgiven
Yet I’m always second guessing
Following him
There’s a heavy price to pay
But it’s well worth it
Fruit for thee soul
A reckoning
Words in a book guide
Me now
Like flying kites on a sunny day
That feeling never gets old

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.