Dearest Heartbreaker,
Wounded lies
Missed moments
Lost ties
Faded memories
You pretend
Heighten walls
Dead end

Dearest Heartbroken,
Loud cries
Silent regret
Love dies
Self centered
Time blends
Hopeless romantic
Start again

Through days spent hollow
With quiet words to swallow
This is what I’ve come to learn
As the candles flicker
Relaxes quicker
Slave chained to its burn
The saddest story
Dumbstruck with glory
Yelled at me to yearn
An envious green
Your power unseen
Makes my hatred turn

All seemingly right
Through misleading spite
I lay my day down with the sunset
Dreams pulling my hand
Leading with demand
To focus on greater regret
Here I give you my weight
As acceptable fate
With sighs misting a bet
You haggled and flawed
Still stealthily crawled
Creeping in until memory set

I've seen you sleep;
Your breaths are
Sweet.

I hope you can
Remember how I feel
For you.

Your chest
It moves up and
           d
           o
          w
          n
Your breathing slows;
Do you know I'm
Watching?
Listening?
Breathing your exact breaths?

I hope you can
Remember how I feel
For you.

The air you exhale is
Hot,
Wet,
And sad.
What are you dreaming about?

I would hope that it's me but
You seem terrified of what you see.

I hope you can
Remember how I feel
For you
When I'm gone,
It's vital to how you'll
Live afterwards.

May many more manuscripts
find their way to your hands,
your pen,
that slightly chewed pencil sharpened down
to its end.
            Let emails fill and grace and glide into,
            and over, your mailbox,
            all for you to wake up in
            sheer ecstasy’s shock,
            because you’ve just found out
            there’s work to be done.
                        Allow this doing to be your undone;
                        go out conscious and naked into
                        the hazy summer’s sun
                        and dance, for goodness sake,
                        dance woman! as if a newborn
                        locked away in your womb depended on it.

.

There is a wooden window, circular
above a roses-in-ink embroidered couch
that complements and contrasts the curtain
of roses-in-mud that eloquently hugs
the wooden sides of the wooden window.

On this couch I sit in my suit and out I see
through the circular wooden window
waves with stretch marks and salty burps
dancing (for me?) with brave crashing crescendos
and butter melting bass.

This ocean could teach humanity
absolutely everything about ***
its voluptuous waves caressing
the ***** seaweed and *******
it for miles until it's washed (limp) ashore.

The couch back is hard and unused
speaking of the depravity of our angry age
whose ***** wear bare the leather and studs
on the barstools in the club below my library
with its wooden window, circular.

I've yet to see a sunset or sunrise
in a place where I can see no land
but looking at the quiet reflections of rage on
the roiling ocean, on which I'm afloat,
I pray I do- I want to see it all aflame.

There is this little poem I wrote
I hope you learn it mote by mote
Like good little children
Don't worry, be happy
Listen to what I say
In your life expect some trouble
But when you worry
You make it double
Don't worry, be happy......
Don't worry don't do it, be happy
Put a smile on your face
Don't bring everybody down like this
Don't worry, it will soon pass
Whatever it is
Don't worry, be happy