you never asked to read my poetry
maybe that was the sign.
i told you i wrote for fun,
you shrugged and moved on.

I have not been on for a while .
I have a crushed disc pressing against my spine.
Once that is taken care of I shall return.

Light through winter windows, blue black snow
In quickening night,
Sweet Friday evening,
In the last, the last of it all.
As I turn down 113,
I know the drill.
Whatever future's down the cycle,
My madcap diary.
Retro reentry true to form.
And its better when it rains,
With the eves dripping in the streetlight. Instead,
I found a way through,
Down by law,
Up by love,
A silent moon casts light
On that it which will.
None for the taking,
One for the road,
And it's all An exercise in futility.
One is the other
Then so is the premise.
A poem for no one,
A hundred words spilled
Randomly on the floor.
Such an elemental comedown.
Save it for the sunset,
Sell it for some speakers
Boy, I think it's better,
But I'm really not sure.
C'mon, it's all a first draft,
There's got to be an ending here somewhere.

Do you feel
what I feel
when I touch you?
              Are you lit
              by a fire
              of intensity?
                            Or do you
                            feel that spark
                            of blue electricity?

As I feel you
I wait for you
to answer
with your fingertips.

Poems aren't written,
they're found,
Somewhere in your head the words are waiting,
They're sprawled across the floor,
You just need to pick them up,
Make a path with them,
Let your path guide observers,
And if you can't write,
Walk down somebody's else's path first,