In the dark,
you face the terrors that live under your bed,
and the monsters that stay caged in your head,
until now.

Now, you have to face them,
alone,
and tired of the daylights constant taunting.

It's lonely really,
laying here as the dark ebbs of the night surround you,
encompass you into something like them.
Those soul reapers that forcibly
borrow some demons,
return them morning.

Its a nice kind of lonely...
being here, you just fighting off those monsters.
You can finally see their faces clearly now,
ironic even, that you don't need any light to see them,
but only darkness to witness their crimes.

But when morning comes,
they fade away,
leaving you nothing, but something like a renewal.

Which explains why you only dream at night,
and can't have dreams while napping in the day.

The outer silence is broken
By the inner discussion of my
Thoughts and pictures
From the past, present and future.

here the
cold comes
with
dark days
and
heartbreak

The butterflies pulse and beat, colors glint and change again
Purple, red, pale slight green, all shades
Swirl from the ground to proclaim the birth
Creatures from a dream, they'll tell him
Of the shedding of cocoons and the growing of life

Far away someone stands alone
Head up, whole body stretching towards, yearning towards far away
Sockets wide for butterfly wings
Wishing nothing more than to be there, keep them safe
But hooves are made of concrete or so it seems
Rooted still to the place it sleeps

She'll be having them now, holding them tight
Seeing them breathe their first breath of life
Whoever the father was will be there too
So many others must be gathered near, watching, waiting
The world's brighter now

Throat closes up as he stands alone
Maybe they'll grow with him unknown
Tears start as blood slows down, tear tracks grow
Questions start to swirl in the distance between
What if? What if? They won't like him, he's sure of this
Head lowers down, time has a way of breaking things

Hope dims like a candle flame
He doesn't even know if she still lives
Some day everything's leaving, everyone's going
He's stuck looking back at the path he's walked
Maybe he'll be gone when they finally come

And suddenly he knows
The whole of his worth comes back nothing
Blood mixes with the stream, sadness and joy
Filling up the space inside, he'll be alone for along time
Longer still

Maybe their lights were never mine
He whispers to the water
Crushed again by what they made him
Whatever the cost, he'll be there at her side
If she still wishes him to be

prefer celery to carrots
light scrunch over an orange hard crack,
straw red over berries bluest,
coffee over tea,
skies white clouded
over
all clear, unadulterated uni-tone,
blondes, brunettes, redheads,
even pink or blue haired,
well, ain't going there
(wink wink,
too smart for that...)

but that's just me

colors viral virulent  over manhattan grey~black,
a good Pinot over a glass of Jack,
beach and sea undefined
over lake delimited, outlined bounded,
ocean caught fresh over farm raised,
city slick over country sweet,
striped bass over monk,
tuna bests salmon,
but both miso coated please...

Italian Indian Ethiopian
Sushi and occasionally Chinese,
all grand,
but my kosher deli and dogs, pickles,
yellow mustard ball parked,
tops them all
especially when serving
all-you-can-eat
over tasting portions...

but that's just me

right over left,
naked better than ****,
polite over rude,
Rembrandt tops Vermeer,
but his light nonethess,
extra over ordinarie...

Swiss over white American,
Gruyere beats goat cheese,
citrus tops apples,
sweet melon my
secret passion,
paprika and oregano,
never ever cilantro,
milk over OJ,
especially, grade A
milk of human kindness,
all flavors

love my poems centered,
(except for this one)
with no sugar added,
but a lot of cream and sweat,
both a necessity, not a luxury,
prefer mesmerizing,
crafting hard, laboring,
me writing, you imbibing,
leaving you oohing and loving
me
because of the appreciation built in
over
ditties that are semisweet
sugar nadas that populate the
easy come easy go away
poem of the day

but that's just me

like myself hard
cause when I melt,
to a child's grin shyest,
laughter silly me provoking
it is ever so better so...
tears, any kind, don't mind
laughing and sorrowing pouring,
let genuine be my only test
speed limit barrier unlimited

sorta saved a street crossing
phone-occupied-woman yesterday,
put my arm across her body
fast hard, unasked
so she wasn't
bicycle crashed,
both looks well received,
the *** and the gratitude,
but latter over former,
if I had to choose,
but I dont

but that's just me

Joanie M. over Judy C.,
Amy over Adele,
Eva Cassidy over all...
Zombies over Beatles,
Blunt over Taylor,
Rhyming Simon over Billy Joel,
no typos over flaring,
glaring no caring...

your poetry over mine,
cause it amazes,
cause mine,
just old familiar crazies,
just runaround Sues from yester pester days,
transcribed for a someday later
future grimacing laugh of
good god did I write that!

but that's just me

wrote quite the many
literary escapades
this morning,
like the yore,
good old days,
when every glance,
remark passing
made me run
to tablet them
in perpetuity ASAP

placed them before you
scattered thither and dither,
like all that jazz notes
running hands over planes geometric,
most just average,
but all there in hopes
you would love me better

but that's just me

sneaking inside you with
a wink, a tink-ering whimsy,
a stupid smile, a wicked sinning
humongous grinning
with a belly laughing,
havoc raising, me crazing,

*but that's just me

Rain drumming on car's roof,
Its millions of fingers
Poking at the eyes of busy windshield-
Wipers.
I love driving with you.
Radio classic rock.
Shopping bags releasing their
Contents to dance around in
The back of my van

As I leave the roundabout in
Third gear; its back wheels
Slipping on the wet asphalt.
As always.
I love driving with you.
You hold on and giggle.
I know these rural roads like
The back of your hand.

I clown driving, you shotgun
Laugh at my silliness
As I slow down at my
Exit.
I love driving with you.
People speak better in cars.
Might be, that one part keeping
Eyes on the road lightens the
Conversation.

I've never been lied to
With a steering wheel in my hands.

Here I belong
amongst the rugged greys and guillemots
my heart in league with the furious sea
as it lashes the desolate shore.

Cries, mournful in their lament
soar through smothered skies
bearing tales of wrecks and lost lobster pots
empty now of precious cargo
ghostly on the ocean floor.

Salt air swirls and dips above the churning foam,
bringing stinging cold to ruddy cheeks and numbed hands.
A distant bell chimes as tides caress barnacled bows
lost at once within the swirling mists
that lay their sheen upon the dusk.