I'm hardly anything left
just a daze in a dream
you went your separate path
I walk alone on these streets
until I fade away
I'll keep shouting your name
hopefully as a reminder
for you to dream of us again.

Its a slow process extracting your consciousness from the grasp of the night
where dreaming still clings on with its waning strength, but still strong enough to hold you down in your bed.
And an in between world of sleep and awake vying for life, quite naturally, follows you around all day.

what
hail storm
dwells
inside
your soul
when
the heart
is truly cold

My life has one purpose,
One purpose only.
That purpose has been encoded in drugs it may seem,
Lost without a flashlight,
Lost without a sense of being.
I've been on my own for this mess.
Death is the only positive moral I geuss.

we all enjoy
being birds
of brilliant
plumage
perched
prominently
on wires
in the wind

especially
when watchers
ohh and ahh
at us

but somehow
we never stop
imagining

a better wire
exists...
somewhere

  ~mce

if you can
make poems

pellucid  
             limpid
clear & direct
as fine cut glass

but

(simultaneously)

fuzzy as
the stuffing
in a Teddy Bear's
head

occasionally

something might
actually get said

  ~mce