I get lost in your kiss
                   Yet feel at home on your **lips

.

I play my guitar,
now crying in sevens
a cold vacant morning
with rain on the ground

Sorrowful chords,
on the strings of emotion
in three quarter tear drops
where sadness is bound

                                   And the storm clouds they form
                                   on the edge of tomorrow
                                   with thoughts ever yearning
                                   for your melodies

                                  dreaming of yesterdays
                                  caught in the feedback,
                                  out of tune longings
                                  in lost harmonies

Breathing in silence
of fret seperations
seeking a songlist
of lyrics unfound  

A chill strums my heart,
sitting empty and hollow
I play my guitar
and there isn’t a sound

.

It has been found that given enough time
failure will find this destined loser
lurking in gallery tints
and water color fault lines

semi gloss replaced by flat

Painting abstract nothings
on a canvas made of words
Broken brushes stain the existing
balance with a voice that collects the remnants

speaking tarnished silver when silence should be golden

Pop art wastelands of dotted balloons
float above the ground where his face falls,
shamed and hidden, in plain sight
with eyes holding quarters of bygone years

melting clocks keep time with his idiocy

Impressionists laugh at his existence
in muted tone chuckles and turpentine snickers
Stretched on easels of dislodged glances
with splattered smocks tied in double knots

one size fits all

This palette of mixed memories
resting on mainstream notions, waits
for the end is sure to come
finding him alone with an empty imagination

and nothing but drop cloth dreams

But darling,
hearts that
have been
shattered
will only
go on to
love
stronger.