I've grown older, sicker, disappearing
reappearances of the past did little
to comfort, brighten, heal my days.
not that I much of it left.
And for the first time
My sunsets are countable
never before I felt more accountable
for my pleasures, riches, kins,
Time.
Never before I've been more afraid
of what comes after than death itself
and less passionate or care
of what mattered before.

here's a poem for the dove on the street
the fluttering hearts of men
the whirlpool and tides of the coffee in a mug
the tinkering of a can slowly roll and stop
under a sky crowded of clouds.

and you sat on the edge of my bed
cigarette tangled with sunset light
the tattoo of a spine flows
back into the sea of sheets

The smoke divides rolls flies
Combined multiplied fades
Darken blacken lost
Redden yellowed grey
Lost again
Bloomed bear fruits
Bear solutions
Found again
Crushed stepped squeaked
Forgotten

person 1          ****
person 2          what's wrong?
person 1          my wallet, its not in my pocket!
person 2          have you checked in your brain?

lights off, end of play.

And I die beside this sky-****** pond
my fingers interrupting its Great Movement
silks intertwined with locks of green grass
all the locks in my pride-****** heart
exploded.