You were a rose
You were a storm
You were the wind
You were the cold
You were the big and upcoming
The queen of my heart
You drank up the summer
Bleeding the light
Knocking on your window
At quarter to three
Your eyes through the curtain
Looking at me
You didn't put on clothes
To let me in the door
We kissed to your bedroom
We kissed to the floor
Letting me wonder
Letting me drink
I played you piano
Until you fell asleep
You asked me and asked me
But I wouldn't sing

there are worse things than
being alone
but it often takes decades
to realize this
and most often
when you do
it's too late
and there's nothing worse
than
too late.

washed-up, on shore, the old yellow notebook
  out again
  I write from the bed
  as I did last
  year.
  will see the doctor,
  Monday.
  "yes, doctor, weak legs, vertigo, head-
  aches and my back
  hurts."
  "are you drinking?" he will ask.
  "are you getting your
exercise, your
  vitamins?"
  I think that I am just ill
  with life, the same stale yet
  fluctuating
  factors.
  even at the track
  I watch the horses run by
  and it seems
  meaningless.
  I leave early after buying tickets on the
  remaining races.
  "taking off?" asks the motel
  clerk.
  "yes, it's boring,"
  I tell him.
  "If you think it's boring
  out there," he tells me, "you oughta be
  back here."
  so here I am
  propped up against my pillows
  again
  just an old guy
  just an old writer
  with a yellow
  notebook.
  something is
  walking across the
  floor
  toward
  me.
  oh, it's just
  my cat
  this
  time.

Trillion little grains
Running up your skin
Staggering and lying
Through everything
One side is summer
Like a barn door
You smelled of hay
And gasoline
A moment of clarity
Dressed all in black
Eyes like a sunset
The moon of your heart
If loving you made me a liar
A liar I must be
You stepped in water
You stepped on ice
A heart like an ashtray
You were out like a light

ashes

litter the chalky concrete
black patches of dried skin scratched from the house
your house
swirling, because the creeping draft
stirred the leftovers, settled in the creases
by those two strokes of
troubled vision.
your face

it spread quickly, suddenly
as most wild things do
lazy and uninterested, red and orange
eating out of boredom, handfuls of
your house
what could I do but watch
you be swallowed
whole

the investigation proved to unearth
skeletons
rubbed raw in piles of
ashes
from the fire which ate
your house
I held up my magnifying glass
only the furrowed brows were
visible

they said it would be easy to
level the rubble
clear it out, rebuild- brand new
it would still be
your house
just stronger with steel frames and
brick walls (with windows)
if the fire came to
snack
the ashes would not
fall in your eyes like
dandruff
irritating right?
so will you let them
in?

I promise once you
let the steam strip away
the flashbacks
and allow the water to
blush your skin
the deflating moments of
ash
will not find the key to
your house
when I ask what's wrong
and you say "nothing"
for once, that can be the absolute truth
for you and I  both

She passes by like wind I can't see
& i'm falling in love with every thought to be
like a cold winter snow in the middle of the room
or a step too far that had you landing on the moon.

Engrossed in context; May it never be sorted out
The lies and the truth will always accompany doubt
No wandering time bomb leaves gold in its wake
only silver or bronze to keep us running late for first place.

I pass her by like I don't feel a thing
& i'm falling in love with every dream that she sings
like a warm summers night on the outskirts of town
or a car that broke down without making a sound.