I have not endured the greatest tragedies,
Which adorn the pages of history in black ink,
But I do know what heartbreak is,
How it feels to fall apart and sink.

Few would be allowed to bleed their emotion,
Were we to compare our struggles to those.
Each experience deserves notice,
Even those struggles of which few know.

Words are for all of us.
Engage in this art.
Sometimes it will be how
You do not fall apart.

I stop in my tracks,
          Listening

  A hollow clinking in the darkness.
In an alleyway, somewhat familiar,
Vacant and forgotten in the twilight hours
Except for the lingering cigarette smoke
And the scent of frigid, dehumanizing hate

  And a clink
Low and somehow beneath the dense, dank dark

  A sound disillusioning and honed to a fine point, like that of a blade meant to harvest death

  A clink
And another clink

                           There is a man sitting near the end of the alley
                           At the back of the throat of Hell itself
                           He has his head down
                           But through the thick black smudge of night
                           I can still see the base of a brown glass bottle tap the bottom of an upper row of teeth

He stops, and looks up at me with eyes that resemble mine a little too much for my comfort

                                    He brings the bottle down, and lowers his head, gazing at it as if for the first time
                                    Suddenly he snaps his eyes up to mine, instantly staring into the deep void of apathy that looks back.
                                    He smiles a knowing smile, and slams the bottle against his teeth.
  


              It does much more than *clink.

The final day, the final hour
The final minute, the final second
The final moment
Moments
Wrapping up around me
Like sweet sweet surrender
Coming down on me
Turning frowns upside down on me
Oh sweet melodies
Caress my inquisitive mind
And time no longer follows a linear path
The past, present and future merge
Into this outcome
That like a once cocooned caterpillar
Emerges
With luminous wings of art
And the wind whispers secrets
My conscious mind cannot yet discern
When I close my eyes
Close, open
Close, open
Like a sea anemone
Pulsating beneath
Layers of dense, buoyant water
Strands like limbs
Moving fluidly with the flow
Of I know and I don't know
The outcome,
Like an equation
Nearing so close
Hold my heart so
passionately inside of me
Here we go.

Maples in red and deep yellow
It's end of Australian autumn
Birds fly to warmer skies
Nights are sombre and solemn.

I look through the window
Waiting for your quick return--all I hear
Is but the faint rustling of leaves
And the wailing of the wind--where are you, my sweetest dear?

Old houses play mind games at night
Fans , clocks and creaking Pine floors
Rattling pipes , Squirrels in the attic ,
wind shut screen doors
Tin roofs on rainy nights bring hypnotic
rest , shutters , however , unlatched on a stormy
eve can stand you straight up in the bed
Old barn cats hissing , Hoot owls in nearby trees  ,
Coyotes singing to the Moon , June bugs hitting
windows and Rabbit dogs barking at midnight Deer
Dripping faucets , ice makers , Rhode Island Red
roosters and that fool warming up his Harley at
six a.m. , morning paper skipping across the driveway
followed by the march of the school buses at seven bells ,
It's no wonder I'm crazy as Hell