You take the
small pleasures when
they come,
like vanishing gnats.
The black cat rolls on
the freshly vacuumed
carpet,
reaching every spot
and fiber, to satisfy
the deep need for relief.
My good friend died this
morning.
Cirrohis--his lover became a killer.
************ I'm sick of
death.
Neon orange sadness.
Three beautiful orphans behind.
The cubbards need to
be organized,
and every rotten thing in
the fridge needs tossed away.
This gray day
needs me back in bed,
covers over my head,
and a sunrise that
deletes everything.