somedays cannot be spoiled, a dumb grin face stuck,
as if you super glued your crescent lips upward bound,
a general anesthesia of a solid good piece of news inbound,
levitating the spirit, and your morning water been spiked,
with shots of serotonin
some of us here have haunted the pathways of poetry and
writing here, for many years, decades, and lifecycles catch up,
and in 2025, lost two great story tellers to a disease that has no
real true cure, and too oft, just battled with stalling, rear guard
retreats, that sucks life from the body one cell at a time, and the taste of living is just a perma-constant Sour Patch Kids candy
and this quietly fouled my mental nest, tinged winter skies, an
even sadder shade of gray, souring my winter affect, and made
writing joyous poems, harder than black ebony or red mahogany,
not impassible, just harder to extract from the fog of time that
makes one forget what one needs, wants, to remember
every writer, every write, brings value into the world,
each a newborn child
wrenched from our consciousness, ejected, imperfect,
needing affections, slow consideration, all differentiated,
all human all different all alive
today, got great news! another poet, has beaten back the scourge,
and thus I’m stuck here smiling and crying, making this one come
slow fast, harder and softer, but for awhile, I will be annoyingly
happy, even satisfied, with my meager portion of joy and relief,
will delay googling how to unstick lips that have been glued
together, leaving me looking like an emoji in this real life
Jan. 17, 2026