A special day; have
a drink on me, if you can.
I've had enough, thanks.

the shape changes
depending upon
perspective;
from the bottom,
an oak leaf,
from one side a butterfly,
from the other a fist.
they have pictures
in color and in sepia
which speak to them
with different interpretations.
one sees a scar,
one sees growth.
they all agree
     it's a part of me
     it doesn't belong to me
     it came from they don't know where.
it's been cut
it's been shot
it's been exposed to radiation
it's been poisoned
it will not die

aha!
rasputin lives in my right lung!

Ewer ice blew as disguise of springs,
***** mined reams at knight.
Ache hiss Swede as ta sum worse do
Tacit mined hay a rite.

leave me your moments spent
without thinking, staring into space
while on hold or waiting in line
for your slush of cold coffee

all that time pulsing away
from an opened artery
of your life

drop your minutes wasted
listening sort of
to the drivel of an almost friend
into the jar held below my sign
"starving for attention - please help"

leave me your moments spent
without thinking
of me:

i'll have all the time in the world

you can feel
the uncertainty in the touch
most days

long pauses,
trembling fingers...
perhaps a slight shake in the hands

a fair five minutes
looking me in the face
after each foray

hand drops from chin,
eyes grow wide
and the clicking away
becomes non-stop
and aggressive

head tilts
lip-reading a line or two
head shakes either yes or no

chair leans back
scanning the whole from afar;
a few terminal clicks

public, save,

then power, sleep...
and I see no more

I had a friend;
we journeyed life together.
Down a dark and winding road
we made our merry way.
The trail was long,
with many holes and pitfalls.
We took our bumps and bruises
and we swallowed our dismay.

I had a friend;
we spent our evening hours
playing our guitars and singing
songs both old and new.
And at night's end
we'd shake our hands and promise
our friendship would endure
and we would always see it through

     But time has a mystic power,
     it turns saplings into trees;
     and its river made a canyon -
     separates my friend and me.

I had a friend;
helped me through tribulations,
and I would be there when
he needed company.
But life goes on,
and our two trails soon parted;
left nothing for each other
but songs and a memory.

    For time has a mystic power,
    it turns saplings into trees;
    and its river made a canyon -
    separates my friend and me.

That friend I had,
out of touch for more than twenty years...
I saw him yesterday
in a little place downtown.
His looks had changed,
perhaps a little paler
in his softly padded bed
with his friends all hangin' round.

     For time has a mystic power,
     it turns saplings into trees;
     and its river made a canyon -
     separates my friend and me.

     For time has a mystic power,
     it turns saplings into trees;
     and its river made a canyon -
     separates my friend and me.