The key was lost
among the books
and
crumpled papers.

The phone rang loud
through the empty
house
but no answer.

The fan above
would spin and spin
like
a dark whirlpool.

The bottle slept on
the wooden floor
boards
spilling slowly.

Somewhere in that
mess, pills scattered
on
the bathroom sink.

A fly explored
the planet that
kept
it prisoner.

And
quietly
the
breathing
stopped.

Many moons and suns
   have melted on that
     canvas horizon since
       our last cup of wine.

Thank you Hemingway
for putting the fun
back into my reading.
It been so long since
I had read for enjoyment
and not to study
some style,
some writer,
some time,
some setting.
The book was yellowing,
The Sun Also Rises,
bullfights, Spain, wine,
women, even writers,
all those things and more.
Last time it
was checked out
of that school library,
10 years ago,
**** long time.
I took it,
read it,
devoured it.
Brilliant!
Rough and honest.
That thing deserved
to be read and I'm glad
that it was by me.
Sometimes books just capture you,
make you wanna be in the middle
of the action with the characters,
live the story with them,
and I guess we do.
So in summary
and once again,
Thank you Mr H.

The mountains went green
some time ago.
The flowers opened
some time ago.
The road did smile brown
some time ago.
The birds sang again
some time ago.

All beauty returned
some time ago,
All of it except
you.

Laying down
on the ground
thought not found
invisible crown
on that head
killer cold
"oh man, we're old"
soon be dead
not learned
yet
a needle earned
gone fast like a jet
they leave
they leave
they got a ticket
from the street guy
a new trinket
and they'll leave
great goodbye

Born in a furnace
in the center of the Earth
wordsmith like fresh swords.

A dot of red
like earth springs
naturally
releasing
from beneath
those holy
waters that
haunt and run
our bodies
pricking thumb
let off all
the worries
rivers and
oasis clear
the sick realm
that plagues me.