Comes a time when you surmise opportunity is ripe to dare a move
to allow fingers to do what they were meant to:
to reach and touch another's.
Or a hunch
those words often held
in check
have reached the point to breach
the dam of uncertainty
cos you can't hold 'em back.
Comes a time when there is certainty
in a feeling that there's
more to this than pleasantries,
and perceived fringes of opportunities.
Comes a time when you commit
those thoughts
and digets
and lips
to the lean
to the kiss
to the pathway
of least
resistance.

It was an arbitrary day
at the arboretum
the ferns were all wondering why
a rash of rogue rhododendrons
were roughing up the azaleas
while mighty magnolias stood meekly by

A patch of tiny cyclamen giggled girlishly
while witch hazels waved green wands
and the willows wrung their hands
and wept and wept
'cause they knew what was really going on

Today I will write with no ego.
Look at me, writing with no ego,
I’m amazing.
****!

It's almost two am
in the morning
I hear the silence
of the forgotten
and forlorn
I see the endless
empty feelings
of being here
forgotten and
all alone

The evening
was so full
of promise
The laughter was
so natural
and carefree
I felt like I
had finally found
the place that
I was meant to be

But the people
soon paired into
their couples
The loud noise
had become
subdued
And by midnight
the room was
mostly empty
Empty as the feeling
it had left inside of me

So I left
and nobody noticed
No goodbyes
or see you again
real soon
I walked into the darkness
of the warm evening air
Realizing that I was
one of those
who had no one who cared

So put me on the highway
I've got no where
I have to be
More empty miles
of lonesome
on the road
called eternity

And I will now fake it
And I will somehow
learn to take it
Take it all back home
with me

So put me on the highway
I've got no where
I have to be
More empty miles
of lonesome
on the road
called eternity

It's a quarter past Wednesday,
the coffee's late,
my bag-o-bones is dragging slow.
Heard little bo peep sold her sheep for gin
killing off the nursery rhyme.
Can't decide if that's a bad thing.
Feel like a late planted seed
unsure if it's roots can reach
deep enough to sustain strong growth.
Maybe tomorrow I'll have shoots and a little hope,
or leaves to sooth doubt,
or buds of competence
or fruits of confidence
and a coffee when I need it most.

So long, love,
say gnite honey,
I'll go pull a stump,
so here I am, the field
of night all around me,
crazy, sad and lonely,
what love there was,
like a bee on a rose
buried in the year book
of past attics, you never lost
my shadow because I
never had one beside you,
though you did lose a ring
once, or twice,
you were like a woman
holding mirrors
over the spring, there
are screws
in the window sill
never sunken to hold
a pane, you don't listen
for me in the rain
anymore, you lie yourself
back into the one
you think you love, cruelty,
cruelty, cruelty, that's all
you've ever known, my love.