I miss when Jane didn’t smoke.

She sneaks under morning’s cloak

Goes to class and laughs

With an empty head

At my empty joke.

Empty is the ***** flask

I pretend not to notice

Tucked into her lunchbox

So I stare at her sandwich instead

No crusts

A housewife’s handiwork

There's no use pretending anymore.

We are empty

We are fading

And she is faded

And I am waiting

In the food court of a failing mall

While she is debating

Whether or not to give it all

To another blue-eyed boy

Because he made her feeling something

Her father didn’t

After his deployment.

It felt so real.
Late, late @ night, blissful and boreal.
I thought it was a dream.
Sent from a sweet moonbeam.

I was deep in dreams at around 3.
It was a  sweet sleep... just as you wished for me.
I felt a warm touch, like a soft whisper, slow across my cheek.
Not a straight line, but light, lofty, smooth and oblique.

A smile radiated to my right.
A light in my dark night.
It was you!
YOU!  
Celeste!
My light on the horizon from the northwest.
It was you!  
Brisk, fresh, strong with courage.
It was you!
Full of life and ready for your next voyage.

I absorbed your smile,
its radiance in the lunar cold.
I just felt
a waiting, a wanting
to behold.
I drifted back to sleep
at first into slumber.
Smiling
Breathing
Easing
Into a dream-like stupor.

I took your hand into mine
as I entered into sleep's dark fall.
I held you tight
to have your back
whenever you call.
I sought to receive you
through your celestial ray.
To be your sunshine
your warmth
your beau
on every day.

* * * * *

I reflect back on
my nights of empty dreams.
I held my thoughts,
as suspended in time,
to protect my heart,
and face my mean.

I sensed your presence and awoke to your signal
Your glow filled my dark room and tapped my soul.
Your distal touch tried its all
To awake me from my nocturnal stall.
It was your simple attention to your awakening it seemed
That simply tipped my trust
of feeling, of wanting,
for fate to create,
an existence
with a sweet moonbeam.

I now ease
into sweet sleep
and deep dreams
of my sweet moonbeam.

electric impulses knaw
at nubs formerly known
as finger tips,
worn down to bits by
the desire to drench
this world with one
simple thing that may
or may not be
everlasting

i'm in search of
a replacement for
flimsy false hopes
and finicky heart pokes,
for flat lined finite
chopped up bits
flying up nostrils
in hysterical hits

even escapists smack
walls from which
they can't slither
through silently,
walls covered in
mirrors full of
faces fueled with
hostility

all the faces are
my own and it's
time i find some grace
before i finally
pull my last astonishing
escape from this place

I couldn't tell you why
This man is here
Or his purpose -

I couldn't tell you why
I am here
Or my purpose -

But March is cold & unforgiving
and mean
and map-less
and my world has Tommy gun fists
and I'm it's ******* son
I felt tied down & freakish

I wanted to get away so badly

and he had this fast car.