Devotion was  a moment
When I loved you for existing,
For breath and sleep and talk.

It exists, still.
Somewhere deep away from you,
Or it will revive and burn
Just watching you sit.

Do you consider
                                     Me
A Victory? Ah!
My Dear.
This trophy rests too heavy on the shelf,
Weighty in the mind.

The shallow nature of your wit
Leaves me pining for more-
But woe to me!
This well is ever dry.

Dry comfort this,
That losing reads bitterly against
Both our tongues.

Early morning rain,
Barely wet my car, but-
Oh, the cat.

I sit and watch in shock
As your normally kind hands
Tear weeds from your garden,
Ungloved.

Question;
Whether eyes or hands
Know better which are weeds.

Sneaking-
  Why?

Sometimes morning
Needs marshmallows.

You who ask the hard questions
Never seem prepared for any answers.
What purpose your rebellion?
Critic in the abstract,
Cherisher of words. Only words, mere
Angry echo.
Come Revolution!
Show me your toothless rage,
Carried by amputee feet.
The tyrants lie that way,
Dear Children of Cause.

I wanted to give it to her,
But mountains are kinda
Hard to wrap and
I don't own one,
Anyway.

If I never show this poem
To you, or anyone,
Is that a period.
Or an eraser.

Untitled, unsettled,
Unstable-
So many orphan children,
Written in little rows.
Still I-
Would rather lack a name
Than miscall one.

You are trying to rush me
Out of the bookstore.
Ice cream is not a substitute
For paper friends, fool.
Leave me, eventually I
Will unwind my way out
Back to reality and your
Overpriced milk products.

I have come
      and bound the stars into your hands.
My constellation echoes
   Because you are.
I am not just one
          Ruined,
This is devastated
           Dancing around forsaken.
Nothing willing, but consenting.
   And you are, (to me)
Sky and freedom worthwhile and I
Bind the stars to your hands
To mark you my universe.

Virgil:
For all your troubles,
Wisdom, guidance-
Dante still left you in hell.

There is no fault here,
Instead let me catch
Your whisper,
Hold it with mine
Under the skin, almost
Like a love.

Good God!
She cried,
God, I need a mountain!
So He gave her a pen,
Some paper,
And scattered words
Commanding
"Write one".
She tried.
God, she tried.

I turned today
To say-
Nothing.

He wasn't there,
And this is 'missing'.

A lovely night.
Perched on porch rails,
Beautiful in half-light is my man.
Come crickets: Spell and spill a symphony
As I watch him,
Living in a glow which is not mine,
No, never; Earth is not so generous
With me.

Incidentally,
I never haunted you.
This truth brings
A full circle tightly closed.
There was a ghost here,
But it was never mine.

Ring rang rung-
Speaking, those bells
Fly.

Why is it
So
Important to tell you
I won't be home
Again?