The ant
Has no time
For sorrow

Some Kind Of Sadness

I seem to have a mark of sadness
I don’t see when writing.
But when read again,
Plain as the nose upon my face
I see it and I say:
Am I that doleful soul
Whose miles of smiles
Make each day,
An inner and an inner, inner
Spurned when I’m awake?
A Janus or an understand-er of existence,
Real both?  Real or both?
I know-eth not
And do not care.
I’m where I ought to be:
Here always.

Some Kind Of Sadness 6.25.2017
Pure Nakedness;
Arlene Corwin

a night sky,
dark clouds,
and a million small stars

scattered,
almost as if God himself
decided to weep tiny diamonds
for us.

we should be so much more than this.

"oh, my lover,
let's start over,
will we ever say we're sorry?
it's not going to get better
if we never say we're sorry."

i'm caught in the passing,
a dream and reality
crossing paths.
where do i turn?
which way do i go?
i look up at the stars,
as though they could answer me,

but all the constellations;
they spell your name.

i loved you before i met you.

i spent my whole life
weaving fantasies for myself,
pulling different threads from different people
spinning them into a dream.

and then i met you,
someone who was everything
but nothing all at once;
and in loving you i lost myself.

but hurricanes are named
after people, darling;
and you were the one storm
i could not weather.

What a dull day
Completely unworthy
Of a poem