curtains back           through wide glass
I watch as her silver sedan circa '99 winds
the half-circle to that black interstate
next to that 24/7 diner
under that see-through mini-gown of stars --
varying shades of infinity;
I turn on the radio to add one more.

smell of you baby, my senses, my senses be praised

into the bathroom            humming light, speckled mirror
to wash her salty tide from my forehead
and I feel young
and I feel lion
and I feel slow, contained fire
spilling from fingernail,
rising from aquamarine carpet to popcorn ceiling.

kissing and running, kissing and running away

before she left,
"sorry for making you the mistress in all of this."
and I said,
"you can pick the mistress."
her lips on my shoulder blade
then her coat in her hands,
her hand on the permissive doorknob
then cast toward the endless
not looking back,
but

maybe she will.

*no one will bar you
nothing will stand in your way
nothing
there's nothing

There’ll be times you feel all alone
No one will know what you are going through
Life will seem meaningless
But there is hope for you

I see you tears, your broken heart
You cry out for help, beneath your silence
Still try to cover it with a smile
Fear not my child; I won’t abandon you to the violence

Your life is precious to me
I’ll look after you as you sleep
I love you my pearl and nothing ever can change that
Listen to my voice precious, feel this love so deep

Keep hope my sparrow
I’ll nurse your broken wing
Once again you’ll fly high
Once again, in these meadows, your sweet voice will sing.

People dream
but they forget.
But what if a dream could remain as a memory?
What if you wake up but you're still asleep?
Imagining a world the way you want,
with a funny beauty as yours.
But when you wake up..
you start all over again.

I was sitting on a train with my pad and a pen, trying to write a poem. I had no title, but I had written down the first line

...I was sitting on a train with my pad...

A man sat opposite me.
After a minute or so of scanning his paper and throwing cursory looks in my direction
he enquiried "What are you writing?"

"I'm trying to write a poem about a man trying to write a poem on a train
who gets asked by a stranger 'what are you writing'.

"Can I be in it?", asked the stranger opposite.

"You already are", I replied.

The train pulled out of the station.

Permission to disappear... for a few years?
I ask to be pardoned, while I become a stranger
as I'm so uncomfortable being so ******* familiar.
Let me go, leave me to become a nobody to everyone
In order to become
SOMEONE
to myself.