April showers,
And freezing temps
Have festooned our trees
With crystal chimes.
Breezes move the limbs
In a clear symphony of spring.
I've never been endeared
To chimes.

I fact checked
Whether God's
Dead or Alive.
In fact...

Tantalize, tantalize,
Divert my eyes,
Say nothing, walk away,
Don't look back with running salt.
That's my lot in life.
My health and safety act.
Not a peripheral look,
Not a squint, no mirrors.
No looking back.
No regrets.
Forward.

Be careful spewing in idiotic arguments.
Idiots has two I's.

I used to call her every night,
The black spiral cord stretched far and tight;
My changing voice kept to a whisper,
Against the hinges of the hallway door.

I used to write her every day
When she lived sixty miles away;
Sent thoughts and verses that I wrote,
Sealed my love in a white envelope.

We came together.
We grew together.
Then grew apart.

What would we do
If we got back?
What could we say.
How would we act.
I've Romanticized on that.
The memory of us.

While lying on my couch,
The sun breaks through,
Moving across my closed eyes;
If I open them,
Could you be standing in the room,
Then sitting beside me,
Hand on my head and hair,
Asking, am I okay.

It wouldn't stay this way.

The memory of us
Is sweeter in the thought.

Today you live not far from me,
But a greater distance than it used to be,
When we were sixty miles apart.

I have a true story. Unbelievable, but true.
You have one too.
This too is true.
It's so unbelievable I can't tell you,
As you cannot tell me.
I think mine more far-fetched,
And you think the same of yours.
You wouldn't believe me,
I won't believe yours,
Even though yours is probably more believable.

It's a secret, but not a secret,
Because I want to but won't tell it...
Because who'd believe it.
They'd sooner believe in voodoo... not true.
Why tell a truth none believe.
It has a dangerous intrinsic result.
What personal good is found
In crosses, nooses and needles.
There's truth there, but refutable truth.
Unbelievable truth.
There's the sticking point.

I'm scared.
I'm silent.

It helps me understand broken hearts and crushed spirits.
The lonely, hungry lost stories of the unfathomable.
Believe me. Don't believe me.
The result's the same.

Legends, myths, folklore tales grow
Because the whole truth went untold,
And mixed with a partial lie,
Becomes our reality.

So, I'm reticent to share mine.
I'm open to hearing yours,
If it's what you say it is.
But I doubt it.

So you like to drink in the bars,
Or swill moonshine from old pickle jars;
You could be far worse off than you are,
You know you coulda been a dork.

A dork's a mammalian who digs in his nose,
His *** passes gas as he goes;
He has greasy hair and picks at his wart,
He plays with his  *****, burbs and snorts.
So if you like to spit, pick and hork,
You're on your way to be a dork.

Or would you rather drink in the bars,
And swill moonshine from old pickle jars;
You could be far worse off than you are,
You know you coulda been a nerd.

Nerds are mammalians in Bermuda shorts,
Sandals with knee-high socks;
He's awkward and clumsy and out of step,
If we turn East, the nerd turns West.
If you don't want treatment like a ****,
Then stop acting like a nerd.

Or would you rather drink in the bars,
Swilling moonshine from old pickle jars;
You could be far worse off than you are,
You don't wanna be a goof.

A goof's a mammalian kiddie diddler,
A rat, a punk, a toothless skinner;
He's in jail to keep us safe,
But in protective custody for his own sake.
So if you don't heed the law and you're a ****,
You'll do well when you're a goof.

Some solid guys aren't behind bars,
We play ukes, guitars and cards;
We're on stools in our local bars,
Seeing ourselves as Avatars,
While getting pickled in our jars.