if you feel all alone,
then we're all alone, together...*


●○
°

Tendril-wafted dunes
of barren sands waffle,
swirl across mindless mile
upon mile, in every direction-
your face appears, a horizon away,
there is little comfort found
in its accompanying echoes.


Drifting sticks caterwauling,
wail on, in the pitched wind,
stretched by distant recollection-
stylus of a scribe named Regret;
each flurrying breeze shifts
turns over and over a new page,
taking with it freshly shed tears.


Foetid droppings steaming out
of some wastrel, desert vagabond
provides a vivid reminder
of how it can never be again,
to kick it away -- desolation
could only deign contaminate
these well-worn wandering shoes.


Head facing forward
wherever the nose points
except in the back of the mind
where gentle oasis burbles-
each leafy frond conceals
intimate moments now buried
within the unmindful desert's belly.*


●○
°

bright, loud
braggadocio
bold brougham

barreling down
main street
all until

braggadocious
wheels come off
at the slightest



●○
•

There are far more people
that struggle in life, like me

than there are successful,
made and together, like you:

so please, uninvite me, yet again,
but let me be;
         without that dangling carrot,*    I   A M    F R E E .



○●
•

your ink
      has
indelibly stained

my
    unwitting soul;
we are now

together,
      forever,
         
--irreparably ruined*




●○
°

       petal by petal

feather-pendulum descends

              you fall and wither




●○
°

psychological warfare 101
oldest trick in the book
throw it back in their faces
without remorse or afterthought




●○
°

forgiveness- unnecessary option
save it for the birds and bees
get off your calloused knees
spare us each slimy fabrication
neither brew concocted apologies
your prophecies of eternal peace
have no hope or home among these*




●○
°

Fiery broth and witch's brew
Foamy froth and riches blue
Fume and spume and spoondrift spray
Fizzle swizzle shout hooray
Watch it sloshing, swashing, sploshing
Hear it hissing, squishing, spissing
Grandma better start to pray.

There is now a dull,
unidentifiable fondness
that sometimes surfaces --
a phantom itch
that when scratched
returns into the depths.

I wash my face of an overly busy day
and your fingerprint on my wash basin mirror catches my eye
then it all comes back to me
how we spent the afternoon 
in each other's company
in a flurry of panic 
to conquer yet another deadline.
But that imprint seals an inwards part that becomes my final assessment
and without uttering another word
I conclude without doubt or reservation
that whatever you touch becomes part of my history, becomes a milestone in my life's journey and that part and more of me has been absorbed by all of you.

Deep within me
lay a poem of the sea
from a long while ago;

where air is fresh
but blusters wildly
when southerlies blow,

slick and slimy
mud between each toe-
mangrove's brackish home.

Whitecaps dance
in the open channel
close to where corals grow.

But further than fond distance
of childhood recollection,
where starfish-lined parades
demanded retrospection:

Gone are those carefree days
along with sands, white as snow;
somewhere deep within me
lay a coastal tale of long ago.