My cozy sofa
Even as my imprint now
We are best of friends

It to be good

But it is is not?

Late rose
That moist rot rot
But beautitiful still.

My old ladies.

Lovely.

I slept
In a womans womb-

Good place
To sleep

Drinking before noon--
not my habit
In the quiet of my favorite room
of softest brown and purple ciphering gray
One wall off-white reflecting light
or a good mood
or something--
I once needed
from my soul's depth--
Trying to forget

Startled by a train's screech and howling wail--
its bell about an intersection
“Look the hell out, why don't ya!!”
--get outta your own...
my own way
and let the failures just stream by

Days--
There's this calendar by some bankers called:
UNIVEST
adorns the wall
between my daughter's sketches
that I seldom see
on well-worn afternoons
among accustomed things

Yes-- "One here!"
to un-invest
in this day
I have no interest
in sunlight or the ceaseless
songs of birds
I forgot to turn  the pages on the months
Forever sunk in April
having given up on June
with its birthdays of the dead
missed events, appointments, bills come-due

Just a picture there-- the bottom of a tulip
stung in warmest pink
within the sepal hand of green
that holds it steady-- ******
A year-- dangling from a nail

if that's allowed
--my ***** mind, I mean