It's one of those days.
One of those days
Where my mind punches
Everything I pass.

Where the thought of
Her not being anywhere near
Feels a little like the way I
Found it hard to breathe when

She wasn't, then. Only worse by a
World's width.
It's one of those days.
One of those days when the

Manliest of my
Innermost manliness wants to
Place its head on a chest,
Where naked ******* say nothing

Other than: *"Cry ahead, little boy.
All you are is welcome.
All I am
Is here."

Lonely nights offer moments of silence

and one dish suppers where candlelight seems a waste

Seated with pen in hand, I smooth the ruffles beneath

as if that will help the words flow



Upon closer inspection I find

heart shaped patterns on the dining room tablecloth

mimic the movements of my hand,

layered one atop another, calling on each to oblige



Crossing lines, intersecting at pre-destined points,

repeating in harmony with one another

as my thoughts gather in the tiny squares

of this colored graph paper staring at me, waiting



Moving in sync with butterfly curves on the corners

and scribbled etchings along borders,

fantasies of a mind in a dream state

swirl, touching each box of this formatted design



Folds neatly collect the shapes of spilled ink

seeping slowly through the cloth

like raindrops on a leaf following the veins

in an abstract yet confined flow



To the blurred eye sits nonsense,

a collection of nothing on a vast white sheet

dancing like uneven feet on a rounded floor

of no particular meaning or feature



Yet to me, my penned innocence calls loudly,

even in the darkness of lost words, these patterns,

as is everything found filling me is you…

and my pen pleads in heart shaped longings

In the folds of the hills
and hollows
of my mind,
I remember a time
when you were free.
You were of the sweetest color
known to me.

No man could catch you;
I'm not even sure we tried.
It was such a sight
just to watch you
spread your wings.

Like a bird
you could fly
circles so high,
blue as the sky,
and free as the wind.

I knew someday
you would leave,
fly away,
no longer free;
my mountain bird
on a breeze.

r ~ 6/30/14

On the sea-shore, smell of iodine,
and square as in Sicily, and dancing.

An intellectual that came from the common people,
preparing himself to be Rosencrantz.
He decides to serve Claudius and therefore
spy on Prince Hamlet from the fountain.

All over the world — the prison. At the world's
end a certain John plays the piano.

Already darkness, and the end is in sight :
Ophelia crying in an empty hut.
And Hamlet walks to and fro with white headband,
in order to be recognized by the Ghost in the gloom.