every night since, might it be mine heart
aching , visions of earth shaking
combinations of words,
the banks of my ability
to store my emotions up
behind the flesh and blood dam,
perchance a ghost from some
long dead wanna be poet,
confiding the death secrets,
I wish I could recall all
the depth of what wakes me up,
and scribe it down perfectly,
before it drifts away, as my
eyes clear and the tv
and ordinary life intrude.