That alluring cloud, just a whiff of vapor
                      that slowly dissolves.
Night has only specks of light
             sprinkled in smoky darkness.
Life is a murky  lake with
              swirling undercurrents.
Love is the only boat,
      that would float and ferry us safe.

You left
like a bullet
through the back of
a suicidals skull.
there's no exit
wound.
sometimes i wish
there was.

Silence in forest—
Green fingers in her dark hair,
Soft wind through the pines.

Night, a gentle snow.
My sycamores, they dance now.
A secret, they know.

Sitting in class, looking around,
I feel a little man climbing up my face by hair.
He has on tiny sharp shoes
And they dig into my skin
I wince as he clambers up my cheek
He rests only for a moment
Thinking.
He gets fistfuls of my eyelashes
Tugs & tugs & tugs
I feel the weight of him &
My eye closes gratefully
He moves to the other
Making a mirror action
And it's all gone from there
Now he dances in my dream
He might have climbed
Into my ear while I wasn’t looking

My body is not
a wonderland.

there is nothing
sultry about
A Cold.

'Come hither' with a
red nose?
Oh Baby...

Commentary on
Modern Music,
nearly halted by
an almost snot rocket...
Authority tempered
with a rasp.

"Did you know you could
DIE if you hold in a sneeze?"
9 year old anecdotal prophet's
looming outline, right up close to
my face.

messy  half-dreams under the
futile winter-hat Reality Shield in the
backseat of  Homeward bound
Economy Wheel Gathering.

**** Man Voice to
telemarketers.

No sir, that's Mrs. White.

You may have read
All my past work
You may have liked it
You may have hated it

Yet you  find yourself
Wanting to read it again
Because you felt the pain
I try to express

You yearn to know
If your alone or not
Well read this next line carefully
Your never alone as long as I breathe

You search my name
There in the corner
You click on all my work
And read it all day

Well I thank you for it
I know loneliness is a *****
You may think your the "you"
In all my poems

Well maybe you are
I dont need to know you
But you are my muse
And again thank you

This poem doesnt need a title
You are the poem yourself
You're the beauty in this world
You are the world to me

Some days I'm afraid of
-the wall-

From the here-and-now
I can hear the music and
feel the rumblings of trees
shooting
up
beyond the brick
and running ivy.

I can hear the laughter of
friends and children and a lover
I have yet to love
fizzling through the cement cracks.
It's just a whisper when it reaches me,
but I want to know them
so badly.

Silhouettes in orange windows
of tall and beautiful buildings
dance, because they have time to dance,
and they know that dancing is important,
and I want to dance with them
so very badly.

I know I'm over there too,
leaning on that wall,
watching the sun
setting on something wonderful
while I sit
in this bivouac,
Here-and-Now.

He's leaning
and breathing,
and dreaming of the
sunset eclipsing wall,
and drinking in the light
like a fish,
and I want to know him
and dance with him
because I have time to dance.

I want him to remember me
so badly,
when he's leaning and smiling
and dancing in beautiful buildings
and loving, and being loved.

Some days I'm afraid of
-the wall-
but I know the sun is setting on something
beyond my view.

And even if the sun simply lingers for a few
moments more on
some empty vista,
I will smile and lean
and love every contour
with all of my being.