I know where I put them        
that small pile of lovely
underthings
in the back of a drawer
Stuffed away
from my every day
not fit nor fitting
anymore
for an evening
or...

Can't bring myself
to throw them out
Hope is something
you just don't...

'Cause ya never know
when life might pick you up
spin ya round
where it left off
so long ago--

or something like...
that

But anyway--
I came across them

...on that first  
truly warm day of spring
splayed across the mountains
of New York on my way back to PA

Driving through those
Scalloped edges not quite yellow
shy of green
Lace in layers
close to shedding heaven
or from storm's
oblique winds shredding 
that sheen on the foothills
from the humid cool
of earlier that day

Spring knows
right
where she put them

Spring knows exactly what to do
with golden light
...and songs'...
preposterous possibilities
of bloom

Frothy silver
creeps amid the white
reflecting light
in every threaded islet
between the mountains' stream
of silk voile
sheer
and overlain mauve and pink
Those French knots and ribbons
thrill the edges of the road
reaching through the heated veil
longing for the gauzy air
Dogwood hands
sooth the swelling
clouds
above—so pleading—

Please...

to touch that dark
of naked woods
below

...where I left them

...apparently

If insomnia were a bicycle, I’d ride it
As I watch my yawn open eye
Wide awake I’d smell the roses
trace their spikes and wear their lipstick
And excuse me if the dreamers can’t smell it
A fever akin to a violin’s soundest
Cutting right through 4AM
with a blade of flicker
With an undestined dim...

I’d ride past the bus stop I walk to everyday
Hang my black coat and never claim it again
I’d ride to the point where I’d make it to work on time
But my boss to never see my face again
And if the hour hand were any slower
I swear…

I’d finally meet you
And when I do finally come to see you
our glass cages will then shatter

Out of the wreckage, a new kind of disaster

A happy one
but I’d have to warn you

I don’t have time for greeting cards
Or flat moons beaming dial tones
Because I am the type of girl
to eat my fruit with my eyes closed
And in this perpetual childhood
I am my own mother in a rocking chair
Back and forth
Am I almost there
If insomnia were a bicycle, I’d ride it
Straight into the sunset, I’d watch the sunrise

When I was still young and fresh
A million years ago
I walked on edges
Always on the edge of something
Something wild

Bright lights and long nights
Lots of laughter and music
Always music
Singing with the band
Dodging the flying glass
When fights broke out
Howling to the moon
Oh, wild indeed were we

All shadows now, alas
Visions from an addled brain
Pubs, clubs and smoky dumps
Leave no turn unstoned was the cry
More fun than fundamental
And fundamentally flawed, it was
A couple of hours sleep 'fore the day job
With eye-lids stuck together
And walking into walls
But still I wouldn't have swapped it
For all the strait laced straight faced
Wealth in the world

                                 By Phil Roberts