dont ever look at my hello poetry again
(i know you are reading this)

You may see a vacant lot
Where a building has burned down
But I see a garden spot
With flowers growing all around.
And maybe a bench to sit
A take a while to appreciate
What can be done by people
With loving energy to dedicate.

You may see an empty field
Overrun by neglect and weeds.
But, I see a garden here,
And care is really all it needs.
Maybe some cutting back
And of course, a lot of water.
But time and compassion
Is what will ultimately matter.

Realtors may calculate
The money to make from this land
But, I see a garden
That needs some helping hands.
Maybe some cows can graze
Or a pretty little babbling brook.
A place of nature’s bounty
Like out of a wonderful storybook.

Do we need one more store,
Or one more fast food restaurant?
Maybe some serenity is
What people of the world really want.
Some may see a patch of dirt
And not much more than fallow earth.
As for me, I see a garden.
A bit of paradise right here on earth.

(This was written for and about Bette Midler.)

As i come to terms
With what I've learned
I find
It's time
For which I've yearned
Time to love
And time to teach
Time to make sweet memories
Killing is easy
It's the hunt that proves deceiving
Because who can find time,
On a planet so preoccupied

in the smell of cigarettes and coffee,
you find comfort,  
and the space to avoid all things that may bound you or your toughwithaleatherjacket ****** front

toxic fumes on your lips,
rise above layers of black eyeliner fake lashes
above your false vitality,
lantern eyes fading, no longer able to find anything but inevitable fatality

dark, amidst despondence and incertitude,
masking our insecurity with smoke and cheep attitudes

take that tab of acid
       get ready for the trip
                                        down
               ­          down
           down

tonight
ill find a new lover to
**** me till im gone
pride too lost to recover
roll me up and smoke me
at least before dawn

waking up to a body i dont knoe
you'd think i'd know better
than to love a starving artist
a shape shifter
a person so sick in the head
no hope
im not talking about the beggar in my bed