Alone in the woods on a late spring day.
Pensive, I passed time.
You were stopping wet that
April evening when the rains came.
Even after 10 years,
******* you was like unwrapping a present on
Christmas morn.  I was always
surprised, and never disappointed.  
I feel
anointed to find someone as
beautiful as you.
The touch of you and the taste
of you, is forever my heart's
sunrise and my dreams come true.  
Enraptured by your two
lips, I could sip on your nectar
forever, or until I'm alone in
the woods on
a late spring day.

I've been to the crushing
place.
It smells of death, and
spider mums.
Daisy chains dropped,
when the music died.
The lake is murky now.
Clowns roam the street,
looking for carnivals
and meat.
Silly boys still believe
in love and dreams, and
girls that like opera and
giving head.
This world is strange, and
Picasso walks the lonely
avenues, feeding
seagulls' peanuts and paint.
No one blames him.
It's his blue period.
All the while,
an old bent man plays
the guitar.
He smells like camels,
and hope.

I'm lonely as a
dancing ghost in
empty Halls,
waltzing through
memories of a
Banquet set for
many, yet no one arrived.

I long for
her on winter nights
when Christmas is a lie.

That bubble of a moon is 
playing peek-a-boo behind
the wispy night sky.
Confirming to me
everyone's lunacy.
Words stick to the
roof of my mouth
like peanut butter.
It could have been 
a better world,
I should have been a
better man.

January snowflakes
are like guilt falling from
the sky.
little frozen starfish...
cold and raw on 
the soul, and tongue.

  

.

I'm an athlete.
I can throw and catch,
and run in the sun-
all shiny and bright.
And you just sleep, sleep, sleep.

Look at me, mama.
I'm a writer.
I do poetry and stories,
all pretty and pink,
and all you do is,
sleep, sleep, sleep.

Look at me, mama.
I can dance.
I'm lonely,
I'll move to France,
meet a woman, and get married.
Look at the ants crawl through
the spilled red juice on
the grass, nature everywhere,
as you sleep, sleep, sleep. 

Look mama,
Look at me, mama!
I have children now,
all good and wise,
you're a grandma.
Why don't you wake up?

Please look at me, mama.
Open your eyes.
I'm lonely and afraid.
I'm old now, and cold,
and you still,
just
sleep, sleep, sleep...

I take 3 steps forward, and 1 step back .
I was sober almost 4 months.

Doing swell, the job, prolific writing.
and then, wham, A bottle of Absinthe in two hours,
Not even Van Gogh on the box or the worm wood could
make sense of the garbled words I wrote.
**** Hemingway and Fitzgerald.  And Stein can go to Hell.

There's ether in
the cloud at the
bottom of the hill.
Birthdays come and
go,
and they seal the deal.
Feelings change with
the wind,
but time is real.
It's a thief,
and it likes to steal.

I know they look like sunrises and sunsets, but I was painting you.
When I painted all the rivers that lead to the oceans, and the glorious starry nights, and the flowers; the sublime orchids and the tender roses.
In the end
and from the beginning,
I was painting you.