Karla told me to give up art.
You really aren't very good at it, she said,
And suggested I take up drinking full time, instead.

At least with a beer in your hand,
You project a sense of purpose, she said
Even if it's only to empty the glass.

But your poems ramble on forever,
Your short stories always stop in the middle,
Maybe you should combine the two, she suggested
And blew her cigar smoke down the front of my sweater.

We will call them stoems she said and laughed,
And challenged me to a push up contest,
Right there on the dance floor.

I declined, she knew I would,
Then let's dance with our backs to each other, she said,
And defend this art of yours, silly puzzles no one can comprehend.

I've lost the connection to my voice,
I can no longer hear myself think,
A man with a cap full of change,
Told me I might be dead and unaware.

Is that what death is, I asked him.
The moment you pause and realize
You are infinitely alone,
No others ever in the room.

Look around he said,
You've scripted each and every outcome,
Your frosty choices and slavish needs,
And now regret... how sour and sad.

I was sitting slingback on a bench,
Imagining the velvet taste,
And remembering the ritual
Of morning coffee with her,

When a hatch of warm sun arrived,
An eight minute escape,
Rush racing ninety-three million miles,
To find and flavour this essence of me.

Such harmony with the breeze,
These two friends called wind and warmth,
One shines, one shivers, both coaxing me to sleep,
Where once again we kiss, we cry,
Tease gently with our softest eyes,
And memories make minutes last forever.

How do we love after wounded heart and shatter.
What braves us to bare our trust and bold again.
It's not courage, always lent and eager to impress,
It's not fear the anxious friend of every age,
It's not pain, a mirror and pleasure's refund twin,
What perseveres when we are fractured and unfolded,
Observe your spirit,
The stubborn ghost that's wanders deep within.

The overtones were under blown,
And so no one got to the point.
Speak up she said, before you're dead,
There's so many to disappoint.

I furled my brow,a bit angry now,
This crowd has an evil intent.
They want games and names and eternal flames,
And I was about to repent.

Look I've cried and tried and tried to cry,
To entertain all of my life,
I write, I talk and sometimes I gawk,
But recently my time has been rife.

With ups and downs and clowns that frown,
Things just aren't the same anymore,
We've had tears and fears and Trumpian jeers,
How soon can we show him the door.

Are you innocent?
Confused and abused,
Contused and blue bruised,
But wrongly accused,
Are you innocent?

Are you guilty?
Shame masks disdain,
Maybe pain is your game,
The shuffle and blame,
Are you guilty?

Are you happy?
A smile mixed with guile,
Juvenile and free style,
Everything so worthwhile,
Are you happy?

Are you free, now?
Sweet tweets bleep your sleep,
Keep all that you reap,
Desire anchored so deep,
Are you free,now?

I asked if crying would help?

She said no.

I suggested lying perhaps?

She said no.

Then dying it is and I opened the window.

So, what are you waiting for, she asked.