a new poem will pass,
that haha, no one will read

but nonetheless, arguing among his several selves,
better to be more fulfilled by the emptying of himself
upon padded cell of paper, of his staining,
the piece of him now
un-chambered & un-containered
thru magma fissures, steaming & cleaning,
providing a penny's penance
for his disparate gloomy idiocies

the gray ladies always smile at him,
always so nice and gentlemanly like, that poet,
underneath his cowardly disdain,
against his pretense's  grain,
contempt for old grey ladies
with old lady odors emanating

is this who you are, is this how you write?

with raggedy old words, that splinter our delight?

While the heavens wept
I gasped for air beneath the
Waters where I lay

Chloroform rag between my teeth,
just to get me to shut up,
"I miss you."
Feels a lot like cotton mouth, huh?
Feels a lot like scared kid,
like bruised back, shoulder blades,
like walking 10 miles for acid,
just so you can see things like
you're not supposed to.
But that's over.
Sweet like honey dew melon,
like honey drizzled so gently on toast, gold, it's all gold:
gold sunsets, gold hair, gold eyes, gold teeth, shining like the gold ring dad "lost" down the drain. Gold, stay gold, nothing gold can stay, gold.
Nothing gold can stay.
That's what I told myself.
And then the sunset came,
and came again,
and came 30 times
before I saw your face again.
Gold sticks to my hands like cellophane.
I watch my hair melt into a gold puddle,
waiting to freeze underneath your feet.
Hey, nothing gold can stay but
can you try?

He told her she was pottery; a vase with grooves and cracks.
The patterns of the history she hid behind her back.

Within his words he layered in- like thread upon a loom-
The sweetest undercurrent to illuminate that gloom.

In certain cultures, he decreed, when pottery is cracked
They aggrandize them with gleaming gold to bring their splendor back

For they believe, with certainty, once damage has been wrought
Those tiny cracks, now filled with light, hold truths that can't be taught.

Our hearts may grow old
But won't ever be dulled by
The passage of time

Swallows, House Martins,
making nests under the eaves;
you glance, too busy.

Alone on a bench,
things in mind, as yet - unsaid;
weeds find cracks to grow.

Flowers, by the path;
blue - so overgrown. Today
we go no further.

Dried stalks of grass stand
in an old ink jar, writing
yesterday's words.

you were tig

I was tag

bright pink wellies

a duffel bag

the snowball

that I threw

I wonder if

you ever knew

It

was always

you

6 happy songs

1. Oui hear
What we appear
What, we appear?
What
Where

Capturing the in
The expressable in it
Capped in it
In
Into

Together to gather
To Get Her - To Gat Her
Two Gets-together
Gether
Glather

Troubling isn't it
Very troubling
Trouble some
Some troubles in ning
Inklings
Inner rings

Der Rinks
Der

2. Vert
Over therr
Overt therr
Knew a woman who was livin
Oh Vert Herr!

Oh Vert Herr!
Over therr
Err a woman who is livin
Oh Vert therr!
Err
Err

3. Bleu
A cloud farmer
I eye the sky
Eye the sky
Eye the sky
A cloud farmer
I eye the skye
Eye the sky
Wide

4. Blanc
Here is the blank
The blanking blank
The blanking blank
The blanking blank
Here is the blank
The blanking blank
The blanking blanking blank
Blank


5. Rouge
They come to me in ones and twos
Ones and twos
Ones and twos
They come to me in
Ones and twos
Ones and twos it's
True


6. Noir
Brush away noir noir
Brush away noir
Brush away noir noir
Noir noir no
More No more
Noir noir no
Moe