the moon has died in a poem
overused and forlorn
its avatar is rising
in blazig pixels and scorn

we are at this threshold
one foot in the moon
the subtelty of dying will be
presented on Zoom

Godot isn't coming but
I am waiting too

I can’t tell you how much I miss her
or I might begin to cry
it may just be the idea of her
and my memory is a lie
either way, there is a deep-rooted longing
the need for companionship and belonging
someone to share my love and passion
feel free to call me old fashioned
but I miss her whoever she was or could be
her that fulfilled all my needs
where have you gone the love of my life
I know the answer I know that you died
tell me how I fill that void
that hole where a heart once sat
now those feelings I try to avoid
now I only deal in facts
the fact is I talk to strangers
about everything but love
how can I tell them how much I crave her
about what really is and was
now I use my body to numb the pain
so many strangers
so many forgotten names
I can’t name her
or remember her voice
I can’t even say she loved me back
or that she really had a choice
so please please cut me some slack
if I step out of line
and if I look a little down
please ask again if I say I’m fine.

Lawrence Hall
Mhall46184@aol.com
Dispatches for the Colonial Office

          The New Pastor Threatens the Congregation with Guitars

Our new pastor has visions, dreams beyond the stars
At Mass last week he informally presented
This suggestion: a choir. And guitars
But peace will still obtain, tho’ that twanging jars -
Guitars in church are why ear plugs were invented

While waiting,
Outside in the cold weather,
My breath, forming puffs
Like smoke;
My mind melted back, memories —
Of a young-ish Little Bek,
Holding a “***”* in my right hand, 
puffing rings
Of imaginary smoke.
Thinking of this made me chuckle,
So much, I almost choked 
On the imaginary frosty smoke.

Should I die—think only of dew at dawn,  
Whispering on grass that shivers bright,  
Ghostly lines where my breath has gone,  
Vanishing in the arms of light.

Let each drop hold my final sigh,  
Tender residue of night’s embrace,  
Till warmth reclaims them in the sky,  
Leaving only memory’s trace.





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