Unfortunate successor,
With regret I imagine you
Reading the account I put here
Regret partly for myself
For I will surely be dead-
Perhaps worse-
Regret is also for you
My yet-unknown friend
Only one needs
Such vile information
My heir,
I feel sorrow bequeathing
My unbelievable evil
Upon another human being

the only ones for me are the Lost Ones
the one's who wander through life
hearts heavy with strife
who tiptoe along
on the edge of a knife
between bliss and the abyss

the only ones for me are the Bad Ones
the ones who rise and set
like Sad Suns
over and above mountaintops
of the young

the only ones for me are the Crazies
for whom the path ahead is ever hazy
but who still find the time to be lazy
sitting around, making chains of daisy

the only ones for me are the Fallen
who drift on the wind
like specks of pollen
floating on and on
in search of their calling

the only ones for me have Loved and Lost
for only they know the true cost
of allowing your emotions to be your sole boss

the only ones for me conceal
so very much of what they Feel
afraid that intimacy may reveal
what lies beneath their thick outer peel

the only ones for me need time to reflect
and often times, they also deflect
the advances
and the chances
which might allow them to connect

Running on thunder,
how I loved you.
Even in your blueness
and in the quiet,
I wanted to touch your
soft blonde self, you
were so soft you were
bound to blow away
in the wind so
soft I could melt
at the knees and stay
on the ground with
my heart ahead of
my thoughts,

dreamer.
I'm still sighing
on the lightning,
unfazed even in
your lemon-yellow
love. Sunshine to
see a drifter fall
so perfectly.
You were always
going to be something
rain-like, drizzled
into my memories,
beautiful crystal
clear eyes, silent
somewhere, ghost of
your voice on my
grass-green heart.
Best wishes.

Blues Haiku

Freddie King’s guitar
Waits for a big leg woman
Fishnets adorn mine


Self Portrait LIII
Reading street hieroglyphics
comfortable in it’s dark caress
Buildings like promises
Broken and lost
The wheels spinning
My mp3 jazz loop
Sing that skit skat baby
The things I tell my pillow makes it blush

Self Portrait 54
Weekend
Books at half mast
Reading a book on Af Am essays
Wondering what happened to
The ‘Dream”
Monday
Listening to Bob Segar and Snoop
Tatas at attention mode
Bopping to the
Unemployment office
to see a lady about a check
and a “Dream Deferred”

when you touch the soft bark of a fallen tree.
                Do you think of me ?
when you sit by the sea, and trace the sand.
                 Do you think of me ?
Does the setting sun remind you of the days
we spent hiding beneath the covers ?
The night's bright and the stars ; they sing.
i misplaced my semicolon for you.
Did you even notice ?
Does it even bother you that i still
love you.
Can you hear me now .
Because when i see that fallen tree i think of you.
My fingerprints in the sand, draw your features.
The fading light from the sun, oh how it saddens me,
oh how it reminds me.
I am sad; do you even notice ?

In your mother's apple-orchard,
Just a year ago, last spring:
Do you remember, Yvonne!
The dear trees lavishing
Rain of their starry blossoms
To make you a coronet?
Do you ever remember, Yvonne,
As I remember yet?

In your mother's apple-orchard,
When the world was left behind:
You were shy, so shy, Yvonne!
But your eyes were calm and kind.
We spoke of the apple harvest,
When the cider press is set,
And such-like trifles, Yvonne,
That doubtless you forget.

In the still, soft Breton twilight,
We were silent; words were few,
Till your mother came out chiding,
For the grass was bright with dew:
But I know your heart was beating,
Like a fluttered, frightened dove.
Do you ever remember, Yvonne,
That first faint flush of love?

In the fulness of midsummer,
When the apple-bloom was shed,
Oh, brave was your surrender,
Though shy the words you said.
I was glad, so glad, Yvonne!
To have led you home at last;
Do you ever remember, Yvonne,
How swiftly the days passed?

In your mother's apple-orchard
It is grown too dark to stray,
There is none to chide you, Yvonne!
You are over far away.
There is dew on your grave grass, Yvonne!
But your feet it shall not wet:
No, you never remember, Yvonne!
And I shall soon forget.

Snails copulate.
One's flesh eats into the other's.