It was a small bit of freedom
Stolen under the dark desert sky
It was counted out
Not by minutes or hours
But kernel by kernel
Of delicious forbidden fruit
Eaten slowly
Like a lover
Savoring every sweet drop
Nothing else existed
For the moment
But the wide open night
And sweet rough skinned fruit
Torn open bit by bit
Slowly anticipating every ruby orb
That would burst it’s sweet juice
In wet pleasure
The nights were hot and dry
The smell of dust
Still hanging like a veil
And it was it all was about the dust
That freedom giving dust
Not from the dry desert
But the dust left on the window sill
Tended in soft careful piles
Next to the bars
To be carefully packed back into place
So they could lie
Lie about the night
Lie about the fruit
And the forbidden trysts
Under the outstretched arms
Of the small twisted tree
But the rough red peels
Left carelessly strewn about
By small unwitting fingers
Eventually told the truth
That the bars wouldn’t
And they started counting the fruits
Every day and every morning
The bounty now left untouched
But the night was still there
With stars close enough to hold in your hand
The hot desert breeze gently breathing
And every moment
Free

You should see my empty room with the stars
Made with more love than I could bear
Starry night in the corner of gypsum and gesso
Looking over Van Gogh's countryside
Stars crawling across the ceiling
A universe of sleep
In glowing repose
But the room is empty
Filled only now with sadness
The bed cold and alone
There are no eyes to see the beautiful things
That dance in circles
Across the ceiling sky
There are no dreams to be had here any more
They have all faded
Like the stars
Their glow in the dark gone
I think someday
That it will be time
To re-paint
Someday

I reached out to touch her
And nothing was there
Her soft warmth
Was missing
Even the ghost
That she left in the bed
When she slipped away
Late in the night
Was gone
That wraith of heat
And scent that lingered
On in the sheets
Was missing
That spot that I could feel
And know
That she had just been there
There was nothing now
But the cold
My hand touched
Nothing
Someday I realized
That this would be forever
That there would be more
Cold
Than I could bear
Last night meant
Nothing
It was only
Anger blowing like the wind
Disturbing the night
Throwing leaves and debris
In the darkness
I rushed home to find her
Soft and warm
Nestled in our bed
And put her skin
Beneath my kiss
And held her warmth
And softness
In my arms
My hands feeling her
Caressing her
Beneath the sheets
Last night meant
Nothing
Nothing at all

I'm unapologetically a bit too sensitive
   highly attuned to inanimate feelings

the lone Cheerio circling the drain is given
   a kindred companion for its journey

considerate thought is given to the preferences
   of animal crackers...heads or legs bitten first

many items are thanked before discarded
   others parted with reluctantly if ever

a twinge of conscience is felt while pruning
   perfectly healthy leaves from house plants

objects are arranged in pairs and groups
   in a compassionate effort for inclusion

The Velveteen Rabbit makes perfect sense to me

The clock ticks away
as another sleepless night
breaks way for another
wasted day.

The ***** ran out hours ago.
I was left to wait out the clock
during that empty part of
the night when the
liquor stores close and
the street walking girls
walk their
final walk of the night.

Too wired to sleep,
mind too full of
memories to do
anything else but try
to **** them all away.
Sat on the toilet and
fixed myself a shot.
***** for breakfast,
two beers I'll call my lunch.
Dinner I'll spend 
with her
in a restaurant,
picking at my
plate while
tossing back the
wine.
Again disappointing
that girl who
still remembers
that guy I used to be.

This day I'll spend like
all the rest,
battling to be me.
The past recedes and
my need to stay numb
grows more with every
deed remembered.

These days don't change,
but most of the faces do.
There aren't too many who will
stick around and watch you
wait on death.

There are those who
remember you
and try there best to
guide you back.
If they could
only hear
the symphony
of screams
within my head.
Or the faces that
flash,dead enemy's
and dead friends.

If just a few of them
could experience
the empty in which I
live in.
Then maybe
they'd bring me a
bottle.
Christen my
voyage like a ******
ship to sea.

Wish me
well  then leave me be
and hold true to those
memories of  
the Who
I used to be..