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the dots are slowly disconnecting
I can see it coming now
the register jams more often
did I do that
and why...or how?
'yes, you told me that
remember...?'
but it's okay
everything is fine
the signs are now clear
this creeping fear
the foggy mist of my decline

the familiar sound
of the 2 o'clock train
snaps me out of my hazy state
I move to the porch
and view the mountains
listening to nature
I wait

the new Sun is crisp
and it's warmth dries the night
the first cup of coffee
with the first sign of light

I search for the shirt
that I'll wear on this day
and my best fitting jeans
then to Father I'll pray

the walk isn't far
half mile...a bit more
odd smile from Ms Harris
as she opens her door

the wildlife remain calm
as I take up a seat
pulled out a Lucky
and inhaled it deep

the dots reconnect
head bowed
on my knees
2 o'clock comes and goes
like a chirp in the breeze
based on an incident from the past
loan me a dime
said the poet to the rhyme
dropped like dice
from vanilla ice
the Gods of poetry
spittin words like flem
cause they notice
when you notice them
up in here up in here
shout it like you got no fear
turn that smokin' room around
light her up and buy a round
lines that bring em to their knees
ask Edgar, William
even Socrates
this one is yours
number one on the chart
like a rhyme on a dime
to the beat of her heart
being silly
where the hell am I
I don't recognize this place
we are led like cows to slaughter
blind to this disgrace
we take their poisons with a grin
while they get filthy rich
they play us like a lab of rats
then kick us to the ditch
our taxes buy their mansions
the market is their bank
they wallow in their sick perversions
their eyes are dark and blank
this is the final scene
where we proceed or wave the towels
do we let these ******* get away
or feed them to the cows
fed up
the saddest part of dying
is what you forgot to do
the ideas born in lucid dreams
that vanished in the hue
the mountains never seen
the oceans never crossed
the poems written on scraps of paper
a lover's smile now lost
the tears you held inside
the chances never taken
the landscape of your life
an oasis now forsaken
the town had just come into view
as the western sky turned a brilliant blue
he pulled up alongside a prickly pear
lit up a stogie and rested his mare

how long will this beauty last
he'd wonder
the calm was hushed by distant thunder
no time to dawdle
as the blue went gray
it's rollin' in fast
best be on our way

the echoes roll in the western sky
farmer's plea answered
by the Lord on high
let's pray for peace and the end of change
Our Heaven on earth
this open range
the title came to me in a dream
I searched the face of the hollow man
as I drove the dagger through his empty heart
drained by love given
but not replaced
he cried to me
conceiving his defeat
to shield his soul from the pangs of living
the blood of fleeing life
and the tears of anguish
fell in drops
to the time-worn floor of the dismal room

a light breeze eased the curtain aside
a blinking hotel sign
revealed a dead man
lying beneath a mirror
smeared with blood
dried to the image of a stretched palm
many hours later
I posted this in 2018, but I wrote it in 1974...and read it in front of the Creative Writing class. I got very strange looks afterwards. I was a very quiet teenager and this was unexpected I'm sure. The faces when I was done reading in that classroom are etched in my memory
the slight movement of a Santa doll
in the corner of my eye
flickering light as I begin to doze
then a whisper or a sigh

a kitchen ceiling bulb cover
seven years without a peep
decides to loosen and shatter
as I lay fast asleep

heard the voice of a young man....Arthur
when I botched the last name at his stone
'my name is not Stickler, it's Strickler!'
he said in a mild mannered tone

He spoke a second time one year later
during a recording session in my den
clearly said my name...'Thomas'
as he flew left to right
and back again

I notice them when they visit
there-in lay the key
they notice when I notice them
the grateful dead
and me
true
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