Eternal data runs through your blood
you can trace it across the sky
within the emotions of Elephants
and watch it swim an ocean
your data is a heartbeat away
from being broken. Your data
is a song you heard on the radio
twenty five years ago and all
the young poets call you ancient
-data running on irrelevant.

Drinking wine by candle light
Small flame that might've
toasted music
Holding off instead
a flood of grief
Some wall I must retain
Some hope I still maintain
called life
...or was it love or...

one of those foolish things....

It's not important now
I am not known for caving-in
complaining
Not one for asking
nor for needing much
to hold my own...

I just need everything--

Boundless days of youth
forever slipping  
Only one dream yet remains

Wash over  
tender tide
The sea has found the breast
Seals it with its mouth
a hunger
lunging toward its home
of earth-warm woman
a deep surround

Longing there to cry
to take her back
to take it out on all
the taking

hurt of it
the bitter
and the knowing
loss of song

I can't recall

...The music that I cannot make
for lack of everything

In lonely moments
I stroll the waning memories
when love pure smiled blissfully
deep within a fawning heart

a wistful melody arises untainted
like a steaming enslaved passion
                         breathlessly released
                              unrestrained,..

         ­                          evident
                    as the pressed and dried flowers
          cuddled between life's ardent petaled pages,
                         bookmarks of the heart

                         traces of the wild bouquets
                         that often soothingly caress’d
                         the energizing tingles  
                         inflaming a tantalizing touch

                         the yearning  empty voids
                         feverishly undressed,
                         traced in the hidden sands
                         of unexplored oceans..
                        
                         though time and distance
make the bereft heart grow helplessly fonder,
memories fade softly as the summer breeze befalls,
  
                         as gentle feather’d touch
                         the evanescent sunset afterglow
                         where the earth and sky align
                         the dimming of the day

         loving can heal
the poet’s bleeding words,
loving can mend your soul ―

                         the perennial dawning of an
                         unpromised new day
                         will someday come again

        bequeathed like the bluebird’s mirthful song
to bring forth nascent wild flowers’ blossoming petals
              flourishing in the meadow of my heart


                 *Someone you used to know

today i would write,
of the mundane...
the weak tepid tea
place before me.

today i would write,
of the unmatched...
the pile of sock,
singular, but legion,
that grows,
but never lessens.

today i would write,
of the humdrum...
the bills that tap, tap, tap,
incessently, at my brain's
back door.

today i would write,
of the wearisome...
the washing, ironing
and other weekly chores.

today i would write,
of  burdens...
but at present,
i have little, to none.

today i would wait,
(im)patiently...
for the morrow to come.
for then,
i would pen...
happy joyous tomes.

but today i write,
of the mundane....
for it seems,
some one, needs must,
give them fair airing...
for the world,
is not all,
loving, lust and