They say come, as you're stood by the door,
and place you in a rocking chair, when you feel like you're the floor.
Then there is a smile that you've seen somewhere before,
and you know that you're dying,
and you don't know what for

They like to hold your head in their hands
and hold your hands in their grasp, as you try to swim for air.
Then there is a look in their eyes you see as they stare,
and you could drown in a puddle
and you know they don't care

They whisper reassurances as if it could mend your heart,
and open their ears and swallow words as you fall apart.
Then there is a black hole in the  middle of their bed,
and you try to jump and fly away
but you fall down and they take your head.

They say you're not crazy, but whisper you're not sane,
and you're not sure if its dice you throw in this game.
So when they break you into a jigsaw, and you lose another piece,
know they do it for the glory and for the fame,
and they won't hesitate, to do it again

Luminous starshine drips
from the sky and
cascades freely toward
the mundane world
and
,with no hesitation,
ceaselessly pours enchanting
inspiration into the
empty wasteland that
is
my ink pen.

Even the sun-clouds this morning cannot manage such skirts.
Nor the woman in the ambulance
Whose red heart blooms through her coat so astoundingly ----

A gift, a love gift
Utterly unasked for
By a sky

Palely and flamily
Igniting its carbon monoxides, by eyes
Dulled to a halt under bowlers.

O my God, what am I
That these late mouths should cry open
In a forest of frost, in a dawn of cornflowers.

Oh, sad Poet,
cartographer
of the heart,
mapping the geography
where sadness
is the topography
of your soul.

Oh, Cousteau
of the changing tides,
like an oceanographer,
an admiral  spying
the enemy on the horizon.
Your sorrow comes and goes.

Oh, builder of sad dreams
in your house of many rooms,
but one door. Like a grave,
a casket shellacked with
black paint, a mural
of a shadow on the wall.
Architectural sorrow.

Oh, you sad Poet,
open your eyes,
paint us a poem of a rose.

Walking in the rain she told me
Hold on to the better things
Funny when the better things
Talk about the better things
New weather
Now I'm wishing I could do better
It's a trend setter for the
Up-and-coming go-getter
Now I'm on the train
No one has a song to sing
Looking at their phones
Waiting for a ring
Ghost vibrations haunting
Pockets of the less patient
Time for restart
Time for back to basics
Admittedly I'm falling into that category
Remember last November?
You said it's better for me
The leaf colors always try to teach a lesson
Paying for mistakes
When I should have paid attention