it is a headstone

in the graveyard

out back.

i think it is a wreath.



the circle turns.

I sat alone
beneath the stoop,
and the beetles' lungs pulsated
in torrential rhythms
with all that we have lost--
even as they trailed their
absurd stems in
horrible lines
between the  neatly machined
granular valleys of the
planks.

This was the breath of
fragile gold hearts;
a wind of ancient style

Compulsion has no

perpetrators, just victims --


and accomplices.

Little by little ,
I fell in love .
A gentle smile,
every once in a while.
I fell in love .
A few words of wisdom,
Whenever I felt lost.
I fell in love .
A  little help ,
Every time I needed.
I fell in love with you.
With each passing day,
I love you a little more...

What ultimate poem
does.....
it will create a pain
of......more like hearing
"a death of a beautiful woman"