Tonight you are off, far away,
you've left this place,
left a space in hearts that hurts,
though you intend it not.
Your grand daughter is in knots.
Please appear in her dreams,
tell her all the things you love about her,
let her wake, a deep breath
to calm quaking hands,
and feel you smiling,
sipping tea,
happy to have been her grandpa.
She loves you endlessly...

Today I feel worthless. No ideas are flowing; my attempts are sporadic and trivial, just some drivel I've eked out. Poetry...barely breathing , a few gasps every week or two, beyond that it's suffocation. I'm boring, mundane, my creativity drained away, and I'm not even sure when I pulled the plug. Maybe I should take a bath, plunge myself underwater, look up at the surface, search for a purpose. I want to cry, I won't, I can't. Slip into a self-loathing depression. Hit my head against the wall till one or the other breaks, at least then I might have something to fill the pages, those ******* pages.

I'm starting to hear that tick,
the terrible tick of Time.
Yes, capital T,
a cliche thing that never nagged
at my dreams.

But now,
decline is not so
sublime.

Link to another world,
where the frigid wall dividing the dead and living
dissipates.
If I think hard enough, or empty enough,
will my steps be blessed,
allow me to pass on?
The only way to be sure
is to cross.

Your lips hang,
pulled by the murk, the grime,
smothering your face.
Separated from your kind, your kin.
Have you haunted these putrid waters,
patient for your time?
Or do you plot, terrible dreams of revenge,
to take the light?

Flowing water,
a blown kiss,
a red-jacket-catching sun.

One of my favorite things to be,
as long as its with you.
Whether in waking, lazing, or love-making,
your skin soothes.
Our bodies exude a connection,
made for one another
inside and out.
If you were God, I would be devout
(and that's saying something).