I'm always sorry
but never apologize
sorry about that

Engines turned off as I free fall
and watch
drifting in this star's gravity
the ships
bathe in the ocean of life
and then
one continues toward the flame
a moth
heats up and dissipates
another lost to madness
So it goes

Reflect upon the history that's left behind
swim in the ocean of predictions and expectations
gliding along with the arrow of time
orbiting moments of quick sensations
as we dance round in a ring and suppose
but the Secret sits in the middle and knows.

You,
my loquacious tide
flow into my heart
then ebb into
evanescent dreams
metamorphosing
melancholy into
this new form
these eyes have never
seen

How are you so beautiful?

the heat arises
inside this vessel
when you are near
451 Fahrenheit
this palpitating page
burns for your words
burns
burns
burns
to hear you speak
to see you flow
through time
gracefully

How are you so graceful?

The curve of your smile
is contagious
if only while in the presence
of your vanilla scent
your skin,
your laugh,
your countenance,
how they are so radiant

How do I capture this firefly?

A gravekeeper by trade
burying the dead to stay alive
with a green thumb and *****
the unused earth oh how it strives!

Fat tubers and roots
green leaves with red veins
small vines sprouting fruits
even a small section for grains

The gravekeeper never goes hungry
his family never starves
he loves living in the country
and his plot of earth that he carves

One day two fresh dead
and a rat, maybe two scampered by
soon a sickness to be widespread
day by day how that multiplied!

More bodies into the earth
how did his garden shrink
he was crying and crying
this gravekeeper didn't know what to think!

Should he be happy for business
should he be sad for the loss
is he crying for his vegetables
or is he crying for the bodies that are tossed

Little by little did the green become stone
his loved ones feast on a diet of worms
now he, a lonely gardener of bones
sits and watches as his world burns

The cold usurped the trees
I watch their children fall
filling up the wet street
winter forestalled with a cask
                                             of alcohol

watch as the tip of his tongue
touches the roof of his mouth
whips down and spouts out
the reasons why we have
                                         this drought

but its raining now
maybe something will grow
or a sea of spit
with rolling waves
                              will overflow

I told her I would try
to rekindle with him
stuck in cabin's twilight
sewing sinews of this
                         phantom limb

how does one talk
before they think
does he hear the words
that dribble into his
                               warm drink

then ascends as steam
back into that cavernous nose
to permeate his brain
and slowly seeps into
                             tattered clothes

this "vacation" will be over
but not soon enough
a couple more days
all I have to do is
                         avoid fisticuffs

no promises.