The maw of grief opens
Slowly, reeking
Of onions

Wet eyes blink
From the lost cost
Bereaved, we weep

Still, not yet asleep,
We sojourn here
Bereft

Pick the wrong apple
Displayed carefully and
All comes tumbling down

Just one impulse
Conceived in love
Turns horribly wrong

Pebbles to meteors
Craters deep
Sleep on it

I want something
But I don’t know what; an
Unscratchable itch

Urges deep percolate
That I can’t articulate
Fait acompli? Or No?

Wait? Or tempt fate?
Do, and invite regret?
Heads or tails?

Crap shoot, poker game
**** the zit or not
Spin the wheel…

“So close,” said Icarus
Wielding webbed wings
Better than those waxed ones

Like Sisyphus before him
He spirals down once more
Destined to try again

“I am right here,”
He said, in a Spock-like voice,
Trying to defuse the situation

“Even as you endeavor
To agitate me
By being unpleasant;

I am sorry that you are feeling unwell—
If you need me to assist you in any way,
Please, use your Comm."

Sensing them
From only here

Honest empathy;
But knowing, no.

Raise the sails
Cross the gulf