Charity is never given,
It's always just a loan,
Kindness is a favour,
Returned when we atone.

Love's lucid lust, limp and lent
Touch, tempt and tease, taut  tumescent,
Feelings fray, fear finds a face,
Doubt doubles down, damp desire displaced.

I had been listening to the bullfrogs for hours.
It was three a.m. and they were loud.
I was standing on the side of the road.
Two lane highway.
Hitch-hiking

I was desperate.
No sorry I was ******.
I get the two confused.

I hadn't seen a car in over an hour.
I would cross over to what ever direction
The headlights were coming from,
And stick my thumb out.

I just wanted a ride.

What is the purpose of life, he asked.

To create meaning where there is none, she answered.

So there is no God, he asked

Not yet, she answered.

If you cry, no one will see your tears.

If you wail, no one will hear your scream.

If you fear, no one will smell your sweat.

If you pray, no one will listen to your heart.

You are alone.

In a universe of a billion worlds.

You are all alone.

The moment you begin to feel sorry for someone,
Is the exact moment you begin
To under estimate them.

It was anger,
Nature bitter and ignored,
Until finally a scowl and rage.

A blizzard of infinite pellicles,
Pure white confetti flakes
In a hoard.
The storm attacks me,
A cloud of locust,
In their swarming phase.

I was blind.
Even before the harsh wind,
Slapped me hard across the face,
With an open hand.

There are gentle days,
Summer days,
When the wind is a scent,
Fresh cut grass,
A tired smiling sun droops west,
Soft lips on my barked skin,
Memories of each and every day.

I think of her,
Only when winter grows bold,
Its icy ***** mocks me,
Assaults me
With six foot high drifts
A smooth white finish,
Seals all the land.

The storm buries everything
Hides the summer trails,
Until the deer remember the way
And tip toe towards the river,
Their footprints tentative and light.

Then I think of her.
In winter.
When all seems irretrievably lost.

Then I think of her.

First we learn to survive.

Then we learn to accumulate.

Eventually we consider how to share.

Before we settle and vanish forever.


Life is life. Death is our gift.

Pace yourself.

It can't be

That I will spend an entire life,
Begging for love,
Confused by anger,
Afraid of frowns,
Eager to blame,
Bored with myself,
And
Waking up dead,

Can it?

When is how we begin every conversation.
I think we should switch to why.