My love of the morning
my love dressed in dawn
My love early risen
and risen, so still
My love whom only
the noonday could ****

My love of an hour
my love in the dust
My love who only
does what she must
with a folded lily in folded hands
my love whom the afternoon reprimands

My love of the dusk
my love of the evening
My love barely listening
my love barely breathing
Who is my love whose love only leaves her
and lingers in shadows where no one receives her

My love of the night
who desires the moon
and the stars all gleaming
through tired trees leaning
My love of the earth, my love of the grave
my love of the sky, the blaze, the wave.

Living Sadness in a world that doesn’t stop moving,
Just because you’re sad

Forgiveness on the tip of the tongue

The strange intimacy of unspoken truths
Of sacred silence
Of quiet, forbidden longing  

The mad unfurling of a blueish love-
A love somewhere between earth and sky
Friend and Foe
Flame and ash and all that burns

Folding a corner
Turning a page
Finishing a book
Keeping it on the shelf
Forever,  
Even if just for the memory

These are the things,
The things that make me think of you.

You are the sea.
You are cruel.
You are cold.
And I love you.

A gift to make my day
Grace me with your presence
Then take it all away

Well, if that's all you can do
Then you can keep it
Because I've dealt with so much worse
Than just your ******* silent treatment

Drifting in the shade
of Hello Poetry's long lost grave
In archive (a kingdom's history)
the past that has been made

Stepping on the bleached out bones
The pale parade of long dead dreams

Crunching fragments of sentenced themes
burning books , poems stuffed inside the reams

Epitaphs to their honor
2010 comments to poets
Vickey , Fix , and O'Connor

Poems to praise lost in time
I hold in hand the words that bind

Great poems whose eyes
were never shed
In a broken aspiration
now lay dead

Cruch , crunch ,
the landscape littered in 2012
Oh what sacred feelings
not forthwith

Here ! lay my poems
to rest here
In 2014 my poems
of yesteryear

Van Gogh
Intensity
  Anxiety

angels dance in the inferno
of creativity
untouched by it's heat
just illuminated in flame
while I stumble through
a forest
with trees I couldn't bring
to life on a page
but Blake in his divine
madness
saw angels in the branches

I'm her poor old Johnny Ray

Come on Eileen

Scroll to you civil rights today

They are lost this easily in time

I wish I could be
a megasomeone
as a Minion