Blurry finds a place to close her eyes.
Head swells up with a demons lies.
Drowsy stops when the evil dies.
Body loosens up and begins its rise.

missing you was
like living your dream
come true
then finding out
that was all
it ever was -
just a dream.

missing you was
like making two cups of coffee
in the morning
before reality punches you
in the stomach
or worse yet -
in the chest.

missing you was
sleeping on the left side of the bed
afraid to touch the right side
leaving it unmade,
the way it was -
the day you left.

missing you was
above all, i think
just a game of waiting
for you
to return.

i've cut myself trying to learn
how to bleed flowers
finding allure in my veins
but the scars cloud over
making my skin a barren land
and i am desolate once again.

everything of
me was choir-song

every bolt of
air,
every summer
moon,
every drop of
cooling rain,

in spring i
melted like
a hedgerow,
in gold and
sky-bronze,

in summer i
gathered the sky
to my branches
green with shadows
of longing,

in autumn i trembled
downwards like a
girl unwinding her
hair,

and in winter i froze
on the doorstep
all black branch
and cold
rigging on
a barren ship,

everything of me
was choir-song and
i had the most
beautiful
purple throat,

i was a soft
melody of love
on a strange
moody day.

When sleep can't find me, I guess because I'm camofluoged and fit too well in the night
(After all, sleep does have its eyes closed)
I make the 25 minute drive down to "L" street.
I sit on my old bench in that ****** fake park with the lined up giant rocks and the one weeping cherry tree. City counsels gift to the street ******, rapists, thieves  and drug peddlers.
  I watch, I listen and sip my whisky. L street is the worse part of town here. There's an asylum on one side of the corner, a bank on the other. Red light number 3. People are always lined up in front of the asylum. I suppose for little blue pills.
  Further down the row of crumbling bricks, is a cafe that plays live music on Friday and Saturday nights and across from that is a pool hall that sells green hotdogs. On the other side of the pool hall, is an empty building with my tobacco lady painted on the side of it. And my "bitchs bench", as I call it, sits beside that.
My mother has always raised immortal hell about my going there. Day or night. "You'll get *****, hooked on the "L" pills or murdered. Dont come crying to me when it happens", she sais. But as much time as I've spent there, I've spoken with more than a few of those "undesirables" and they all have a story of such pain and heart break. Or they're just mentally ill.
They're daisies. That didn't grow upright in this field of life. They tripped.
  My "L" street,
is where the daisies tripp.