i know i'm in deep
when thinking of you
feels like
thinking of me.

My life is about never.

you say we will never meet.
my life is about never.

I lived a living death for decades.
awoke each day begging that it be
my last, my now, my never more.

never was my watchword.
never was fate.
never was my hell.

you better go back and
read my poems from
A to V.

therein lies the stories,
true to each word.

rivers I almost jumped into.
mental faculties rusted brittle.

until by accident,
I lost the N.

never became ever.

there are the magic twenty five.
met one and the journey,
trip has begun.

a world tour,
I will make.
gonna knock on your door at the poetry hour,
around six am,
and with the biggest smile,
will hand you this poem,
and pronounce this blessing:

Gotcha.

need no will,
need no way.

cause I got me a passport
issued by the authorities of
Neverland.

As a degreed graduate,
I learned magic and how to spell,
never is spelt ever.

we will shake hands,
whenever,
whoever,
wherever.

but always
ever,
forever.

gotta get me a big suitcase,
these crazy twenty five,
who always ever read every
poem I wrote, I will meet,
on this planet earth.

they live in the craziest places,
but I got maps and google earth.
and I will find them and you sir,
hands will I shake and then grab you,
soul and body,
shake that too.

.
Kimberly Alynn.
born too late, still
after only one breath too soon
the end of May 31, 1986.
I had been the only one who knew when you stirred
when you felt/heard Beethoven and Vivaldi.
I sensed you yearning for harmony,
our futures uncertain in that maternity home,
but could offer you only me.
The world told me I had nothing to give
not good enough, choose adoption
So I entrusted my treasure to a lifeboat without me.
.
But maybe you were here for us;
because the music of the Heavens pulled you back.
Gone, but not yet born.
The clock stopped,
and the minutes would not relent the suffering.
A time of hope, vanished...
a hope of beauty, soundless
and still, Memorial Day
is would-have-been 5, 16, 27 years old.
Your life I carried, your future was my young life.
now always without you in this incomplete world
where I am your broken heart
and you are my empty arms.
.
I am not allowed to say it wasn't-supposed-to-be-this-way
since I don't know what you knew
and your future was only my dream.
.
This one night returns every year
and this house becomes too small.
I ride my motorcycle just to ride,
leaning through the curves up the mountain,
if I could only keep going
the midnight road pure black.
until hands too cold, I stop.
Silence punctuated by the cooling engine, it gently
tinks
and I breathe in sacred cool air.
.
The Big Dipper spills colorful twinkling gems across the valley below.
The mountain curves away above my shoulder,
her massive peak leaning back fascinated only toward heaven's brilliance,
the infinite distance palpable, tangible.
The Milky Way tipped sideways,
starlight pours down, eternally washing over.
Or am I spinning sideways on this small planet
in vertigo of re-awakened grief.
Galaxies so numerous I count them rise,
sparkling as they appear.
Even the mountain is so tiny, telling me,
see?   we are so tiny...
.
pure volcanic rocks, road, and I are bathed in soft light
yet in still perfect cold dark solitude.
Only the road's straight white lines glow.
my road,
yearns up in reflection...  
Tonight I give you memory,
all that I have to give.
My baby girl, you are not forgotten.
A small wind finds my hands,
and my cheek, with its one tear.
.

The blood of dinosaurs
pump through the soil
serving as cold platter
for the lit Norwegian cigarette  

The war of music pump paragraphs of hope
through the ear of youths
burning lips in pursuit of happiness.

In search of naked pictures of God in our mirrors,
the internet spent our laws and threw our only hallelujah out the sea—
and Arachne smiled, knowing she’s now the Womb—
and all men come in the belly of eternity in order to be.