The right person, the wrong time.
The right script, the wrong line.
The right poem, the wrong rhyme.
And a piece of you that was never mine.

Could this be the rain?
The sky seems dark enough
Could this be the rain?
In the still
Of near midnight's hush
The clouds
Grab the bright full moon
And drag it away
Over the curvature
So we might have
A new day.

It's easier for me
to capture the wind
in my palm than
to hear a kind word
from you--not even
in a century!

Infinite complacency
Unchecked technology
What needs to be
Is what will be
Aerial warfare
To the fore
He died
A year after Hiroshima
Must have broke his heart
To be so right.

and while
i change my mind
i’ll dance
as the stage fades

the stage was
always meant to
go, it was built
out of unspoken
regrets, ignored
intuition, harsh reality checks

intuition
speaks through art
speak through
your craft

i place my head beside her thigh
as if to sleep in her warmth,
I say Twosday,
she says,what?

I repeat, Twosday,

Yes, she say, it is,
pausing to consider
and connect
my dots:

Ha, you’re writing a poem!

“head connected to my thigh bone,
drawing from within me,
the necessary ingredients to
inspire, perspire,-and respire
this agglomeration of the
in and out of your surroundings
contacting pulses”

I think, ah,
she’s got it,
but all I say and
state with definiteness,
by repeating,
and  breathing out

Toosday, Twosday!

A familiar smell
Brewing from the orange sky.
A cup of tea.
Leaves start to dry.
Felt on me -
A breeze - so shy.

in the morgue
name tag tied to big toe

the autopsy
naked to the bone

you may let out a last moan
but that will be death, making itself heard

Awaken to a cloud filled sky

Memories of blue hide away

Fire tinged wisps hug the horizon

As countless gods cry

For another angel lost it's wings today

A battle raises; heaven's uprisen

A flash of lightning declares the war

Many unexpected things are in store

As the trees shake their branches

To keep our evil minds at bay

And the tear drops soak our skin