There are those who
spark under lights,
ready for fame
and splendid glory.
Untouched by the weight
of what lies behind.

There are those
who don’t seek applause,
work their silent craft
in the back row,
hold up every story.

Quiet presence,
unnoticed encounters
in the long hallways—
heroes of background,
like the steady ticking of the clock.

They are the pillars of pyramids
built by self-proclaimed Pharaohs.

the cops are at the door,
open the window,
toss me my running shoes.

out the window I went, left heaven,
down to the narrow street
into the welcomed night.

(my fair weather fade away.)

you have the prettiest eyes
the sky ever knew

so please don't be surprised
to find me one day at your window

some cold december night
holding plastic flowers for you

so love the thief who tried steal your heart,
and plastic flowers never fade.

Within a single day's blink.
Fuschia buds blossom
an exquisitely pale pink.
Impatient branches wear
their now exotic veil.
The leaves felt ******
throbbing in the gale.
Wind ruffled petals,
Glisten with dew.
The stagnant empty winter
is now a voluptuous floral view.
The naked pink will call to you.

Do days swallow time?
Or does time swallow the days of our lives?
What memories get digested, while some are excreted?
The past starves to be remembered
after it's long forgotten.
The future hungers to begin,
heightened by the uncertainty.
The rarity of simply coincidence,
is like a blue orchard on the moon.

Pleasure seems only recognizable
after breeching the membrane of pain.
We were a beautiful catastrophe.
Sun after slashing rain.
Questioned by the sane.
Velvet and volatile.
Looking back at the stretches
of  blackened miles.
At all our infinite tries.
A sunrise and sunset were never destined to occur together.
You are my painful, passionate chance at never......