Tenderly Dionysus
Wraps us in the folds
Of his earthy, leafy robe
Fragrant and exuberant
Smelling of cotton and
Jubilee and lavender
And he weaves
Necklaces and crowns of
Green verdant clover
Sunflowers for his Muse
Into our thick knots
Of tangled ***** hair

I can't forget you,
I'll always weep at
the thought of you
while drunk on emotion.

I wait until I'm alone to
look at the photographs
I've managed to salvage.
I selfishly cherish the memory
of our times together.

I stand fixed in the thick green
grass and stare at your name
engraved in the marble.
I always run my fingertips
across each letter.

I include you in all that I
do,I be the Plato
to your Socrates.

I drink more now,
always the cheap stuff,
mostly alone,
and forever shadowed by
your memory.

This still  new relationship
with LOSS has already
changed me as a person.
I've accepted the fact that
you're gone, but it doesn't mean
that I'm OK with it.

I look forward to sleep,
thats when I see you.
That's when I hear you.
Can you hear me?
See me?
Feel how much I miss
You?
Probably not but that's
Ok,all you ever did was
Care for me,
Loved me.

What a selfish fool I've
been,
I am.
Even now all I really want
Is you back in order for
me to Love,
for me to care for...

Only a fool
could believe
there was nothing
waiting on me
on the other side
of all of this.

It could
be riches or
could be death.

Or maybe even a brown
haired beauty
with amber eyes
and blood red lips.
A touch so gentle
the cracks on these prison
walls began to weep
at her touch.

A fresh bottle already opened
next to a clean glass
already filled.
With an ice cube afloat
that has melted just enough
to chill the sting.

Or a pistol locked
and loaded with
malice and
****** left in its
wake.

A friendship yet to
be formed or a
lonely bar keep with
a half truth tale
to tell.

A moment of calm to be felt
at the sight of the
theater that is
the sky and the
sea at sunset.

I'd be lying only
to myself if I thought
there was nothing beyond these
deadened hours
and wasted days.
Nothing waiting as patiently
as a poor man in a well fare
line,for me.

It could be anything
or anyone of those things.
Or it could be death in the form
of a ****** fix,
a vengeful enemy who's
had too much to
drink and too many
rounds for him to miss.

A drunk out for a
Sunday drive,
or a strong enough
wind that felt
the need to fall an
ancient oak
right on top of me.

it is winter,
still
although warm days
deceive us

dead branches
brown lawns
desolation

now, finally, in a winter's
black night
giant, sodden,
perfect
snowflakes
drift

the sky clouded
     full of snow
to make the night sky
     day

we stand
each wielding a shovel
working

sharing the joy
in this
perfect
winter
moment

         in which
the universe once again

seems to work

yet,

it is the bond
of the shared moment
which generates an
intensity of
closeness

a perfect understanding
between souls
strung out along
the driveway


shoveling snow
in a cloud of grey
steam

Grey insistent rain
is falling on my world.
Sad shriveling old asphalt
shrugs off abandonment
and lies stoic in the cold and wet.
Looking out my window
I see people pass splashing.
Shall I put on my 'winter weeds'
and go amongst them unknown?
Then, as the rain pelts my body,
I can touch my chest and whisper,
"Mea culpa, mea culpa, mea maxima culpa."*

But I am not washed clean.
I walk a lonely mile into the wind.
I see mud, and stark branches
and metallic traffic blurring by
and in my commonness I am invisible.
Suddenly a sob bursts from me
from the depths of my longing
and I look around to be sure no one heard.
But if they did, there's no sign.

I walk on to a park close to my home
and stand against a tall majestic tree.
Its branches enfold me
and keep me from the rain.
The roots are so very deep.
I feel my sadness dwindle to the ground
and I am weak, but my heart's less torn.
The storm inside me, like the storm outside has quelled.
Distracted and confused I make my way home.
I sleep to dream of some fabled sun.
Some other world, some other dimension.
Some other me.