So many artists struggle to find their style.
Then fully become said style.
As writers work to find their voice
and fully become that voice,
but I have no voice or style
I am multitudinous,
multi-dimensional.
There is an infinite variety
of possible and impossible realities
which exist inside of me.
So I express such diversity
with almost the same variety
of verbal and visual tools provided for me;
Not confined to how you define I should write
but free to discover everything.

He was sitting on a fencepost
A mouth harp in his hand
He started making music
Like a ghostly rubber band.
He called me a stranger
And, I asked him how he knew.
He raised his head and stared
And seemed to look me through.

He said:
There is nothing down this highway
But heartbreak and a tale
Nobody will friend you here
There’s nothing good for sale
We are here with no way out
So move right on away
You only have your freedom
If you don't let yourself stay.

Some people think it’s heaven
‘Cause they never had a chance
They never had a friend before
A storybook romance.
They made some stupid choices
Now there’s a piper to pay.
They’re deaf to rhyme or reason
No matter what you say.
Some believe they never had
The character to change,
That they were born without a dream
The hopeless and strange.

But we know lonely backroads
That never reach the bay.
We live in fogs of memory
Here in Futile Quay.
Where once we were children;
Now we never smile.
Our trip down this highway
Is a never-ending mile.
So go on back to comfort
To security and plans.
Stay too long in Futile Quay
You’re out of fortune’s hands.

Set all things aside for one moment,
Clear your space and empty your mind,
Free your thought of the debris of memories,
Set all things aside

And breathe in deeply the peace and the silence,
The sound of calm water drifts on the air,
Unshackle the chains of the day that restrain you
- Rest awhile and repair.

How grand it is to be excited
seeing another poet in this city,
knowing we are artistic kin
family that lets what’s within
flow out and come back in again.

I move up, certain we will be friends.
She speaks grand versus
and I stand in awe
waiting alone as always.
She stops. I move to intercept,
smile to engage.

But I must be some 2d
creature
cause she walks away
with so much ease
leaving me so displeased.

I thought we could be friends.
How stupid of me.
Now, I return to my pathetic poetry
as she heads happily away from
this paper thin poetic reality.

To think and dream
remembering a place
where we've never been
pondering the sparkling
pond we never swam in
or the heat from the
crackling fireplace
we never snuggled
in front of.

I rush to thoughts of you,
a reflection of someone
I never truly knew,
an omnipresent
perfect female companion,
a lie I tell myself.

The same lie
that dies in the reality
of knowing you will
never love me,
only to be resurrected
by hazy half remembered
dreams.

Cause the memory of
a never was
or never will be love
is sickly sweet,
as unhealthy
as the corn syrup crap
the food industry
has been feeding me.

My sugary affliction,
farcical fantasy,
addiction of desire
which affords me
moments of relief
from the reality
of our sick and
hateful society.

to contemplate your beauty
is this poets' guilty pleasure,
but, as we're taking separate trains,
this joy won't last forever.
The play of light upon your face
as you read some Lovers' twit
gives you an aspect of Kabuki
in the station's dark abyss.
Your perfect, doll-like, features
painted porcelain by the light
An oasis of sheer beauty
amidst the station's urban blight.
Too quick, the moment passes.
I board and you remain.
For, you see, I'm headed Westbound
aboard the downtown train.
You reminded me of one I loved
in another place and time.
The girl who is forever young
and never far from mind.

I remember when his love died,
With care, I buried each memory,
How could I know echoes would escape,
Bringing to my heart their treachery

With cloud drifts, his words come floating,
On the wind, close to my ears they glide,
When the evening spreads its purple cloak
I run underneath, trying to hide

But I find no sanctuary,
Everywhere I go, an echo strays,
Echoes of pledges made by our hearts
Are searching for those happier days

Echoes stir the sleeping fragments
Of a heart shattered by a cruel blow,
Tell me, in what way have I wronged Fate
That it chooses to punish me so!

I'm a prisoner of his echoes,
They keep me chained to his memory,
His words crash and break like crystal waves,
Pounding my heart's shore endlessly

I don't know how such things can be,
All my days now in darkness are clad;
Slowly, but surely, haunting echoes
Of his love are driving me mad!