we have a clock up on the mantel
it's right just twice each day
but, when you get to my age
i guess that it's ok
i don't need clocks to keep in time
my body works for me
i don't need hands on an old clock
to tell me when to ***

my stomach says it's time to eat
the clock says ten past eight
it's three hours off as i can see
but, still ....i think it's great
the clocks been there through seven kids
four dogs, two cats, one wife
it's no wonder that with all of that
it barely has a life

you can still hear it try ticking
if you give it a good wind
i'd hate to look inside it
for fear of what i'd find
the cuckoo clock i used to own
went cockeyed, the bird died
i couldn't get the cuckoo back
no matter how i tried

i figure now at eighty six
that time has passed me by
i used to be quite punctual
i was just that sort of guy
but, now the clock up on my mantel
it's right twice...and i see
it's ten past eight again my friends
so...it means it's time for tea.

Our Mothers, lovely women pitiful;
  Our Sisters, gracious in their life and death;
  To us each unforgotten memory saith:
"Learn as we learned in life's sufficient school,
Work as we worked in patience of our rule,
  Walk as we walked, much less by sight than faith,
  Hope as we hoped, despite our slips and scathe,
Fearful in joy and confident in dule."
I know not if they see us or can see;
  But if they see us in our painful day,
    How looking back to earth from Paradise
    Do tears not gather in those loving eyes?--
  Ah, happy eyes! whose tears are wiped away
Whether or not you bear to look on me.

218

Is it true, dear Sue?
Are there two?
I shouldn’t like to come
For fear of joggling Him!
If I could shut him up
In a Coffee Cup,
Or tie him to a pin
Till I got in—
Or make him fast
To “Toby’s” fist—
Hist! Whist! I’d come!

the presence of your breath
down the nape of my neck
goosebumps
encaptivate fields of epithelium
ravaging my integumentary system
follicle by follicle

the touch of your lips
color my cheeks
like the red of holi
marking every cell
every junction
as conquered territory

the gaze of your eyes
occipital lobes, is it?
strip me naked
without a touch
simple introspection

*I really can't get enough of this anatomy

This town is famous
     for pretty faces,
     broken legs,
     and misplaced names--

A sentence penned,
An Oxford comma
          dangling off the edge of pages,
setting off appositive phrases,
lighting fuses--accidental--
          phasing out of view and staging
     tactical retreats

The winds of February mark off
intersections
                           Dow & Broadway
Midnight laughs echo off stratos
     then fall back--
     snowstorms at midday.

Caught in the rain on Sunday evening
this place don't stay awake so late.
Except, perhaps, for pretty faces,
misplaced names, or broken legs--
But forget the Oxford comma
         retreating, drenched, off of the page.

i'm pretty sure
my heart strings
have snapped by now.

and if cupid has a spare set,
well, i haven't received it.

Dear me,
I'm sorry,
I'm sorry that you tried so desperately to fix others when your own hands were shaking.
I'm sorry that I didn't give you enough time to heal,
That I let you heal the wounds of everyone else,
Whilst your own were bleeding.
I'm sorry that there were days when smiling hurt,
But you forced yourself to laugh so that no one had to worry about you.
I'm sorry that you have all of your time and effort to people who don't give the same amount back.
I'm sorry that there were nights when you cried yourself to sleep,
And no one bothered to understand why.
And I'm so so sorry that I didn't love you,
Like you deserved to be loved....!!💔💔