and should this night find you alone
staring into the abyss
shivering in the chill of hopelessness
fire the candle
dip the quill
and speak to me
for i await your solitary tear
your desperate moment
giving rise to the beauty that cries
deep within the soul
of the poet

breathe when steps up the climb redden.
see deep true endlessness forming waves.  
many abjurations will cloud alone,
to never green again.
taste dust sometimes,
enjoy sneezing--
cry.
play the moon;
know selfish worlds darkly,
grow flying genders into acts
sensing beneath ground live stars resting:
freely read to recall ancient ways to poem...
hidden wisdom gone stale speaks past
as poetic forests fall wilting.

'tis the season
to be holy
'tis the season
to be jolly
'tis the season
to have fun
'tis the season
to be done
'tis the season
to feel stress
'tis the season
of such duress
'tis the season
of such renown
'tis the season
to seek ground
'tis the season
for the ultimate test
'tis the season
to seek final rest

Before I raise my voice
I will lower it to hear you

I will listen
to the undercurrent of your thoughts
your pain and the sound your tears make
when they fall
when they are left uncried

I will walk with you,  trace our steps back
to that fork in the path where good things fall
through a pocket hole and burdens
hitch a piggy back ride

I hear you
I see you
let's take a walk

I will be brave with you
let us gently extricate
dreams lost from
underneath that heavy rock

Don't be afraid
if  you get lost
I will raise my voice to find you

when you hear me
my voice will bring you back

"instantly" doesn't apply
though we use the word to describe
an eternity that passes
before one’s eyes

in the flash flesh takes
to surrender, when a bullet passes
through a heart, a skull is crushed
in a head-on collision  

let me pause a hand an "instant,"
to make the car key turn, or the foot fall
from the curb a momentous moment,
later

altering all destiny, by chance,
if I had the chance, to be master of a tiny cogwheel,
of one machine--I don't need omnipotence,
only the reins of time

A dozen chairs
haphazard
in the service entrance
the boss says
you can have
any or all;
the junk man comes tomorrow.
None are broken.
Perhaps too firm,
or too soft,
not supportive enough
or someone
just couldn't get
comfortable
with this one.
The one I found
on the third try
is plain and strong,
has my back
where needed
and holds me
at the proper height
where I see best.
Strange who
some will toss aside
as worthless.