There, somewhere, is a place so familiar, that you've forgotten
and you didn't even know.
In this place is a building, decrepit, with walls well worn,
built with the least experienced of hands.
These hands, now gone, showed a tenderness in their craftsmanship,
a love now forlorn as the walls
Walls held up with the determination of creeping moss
that spreads through the corners of the halls.
Halls so sprawling as to confuse those who dare to come in
and seek the treasures within
These treasures hidden, repressed and no longer precious,
a sentinel to those left behind.
And these treasures you found within these halls
bound by these godforsaken walls
built by those who know, knew, and would never have
Reside in a building beyond all paths
That calls to you and all that you believe
To compel you in, so you'll never leave.

I was told once that I lived a former life as a nun
I liked the thought
It rang true in my heart.
But what about this other one that keeps showing up in my dreams?

Where I  smoked virginia slims
Danced nights in a hazy dive bar
Black hair
A luscious mystery

Mainstreet by Bob Seger
That'll take you there.

Oh, and please, I would like if you trusted in me
to discern imagination
From a soul memory

Living a life of last resorts
Taking the roads where signs mislead
Where there is darkness in these streets
We've found a light in you.
Over the weathered bridges
to barren landscapes
Where allies are paranoid and betray
in the territories of the kitchen.
Morals are more black than white,
but no one realizes how pink
we all are on the inside.
And I wonder how did someone so pure
end up so blue?
Its the nature of the environment.
A parable of cruel intent.

On some northern, coastal bay
there is fallen dock
it does not have a name
or appear on any map
save for one
sitting in a bygone gas station
collapsed along a stretch of route 6
This dock, without name,
is often seen
as bundled driftwood
favored neither by the 'gulls nor crane
It is even lazily avoided by fish,
swept by in their eternal procession
toward the sea
It seems as though dock's descent
was a gradual but certain thing
like the bathing of stiff, aged limbs,
perhaps drawn down
by calloused barnacles
grown too thick
But would that this nameless drift
could speak,
it may recount the weight of bearing
some life aloft to cast forth
with the knowledge that
it may not return to shore.