Before words form
then fall, like rain
from the mind of a  writer
splattering a chaste page
There is no poem

Before the pieces
of someone's peculiar puzzle
are placed
precisely
on a page
There is no poem

Before the mind
of a reader
appreciates
something special
in a word salad
there is no poem

Before a reader
pretends to hear
sounds found
somewhere
between his ears
there is no poem

Where can love be found
No one has ever told me
its shape or color

Mysterious mechanism
that can brighten up my life
now finally works

I thought I knew love
but found I was mistaken
I am still learning

The home of his skull is in Rome
His blood's in a vial in Dublin
It's the day of this lover's last breath
the day of his date with death

Love is the name of his game
They play it all over the world
Everybody knows his name
every single boy and girl

Cruel Claudius built his empire
with soldiers fire and swords
but married men full of desire
would stay behind closed doors

Engagements and marriages were banned
so they married in secret instead
Valentine kept joining hands
until Claudius chopped off his head

Chocolates, a heart and a rose
things that give you bliss
dinner and a movie or a show
then a long hug and a kiss

The home of his skull is in Rome
His blood's in a vial in Dublin
It's the day of this lover's last breath
the day of his date with death

Wire and nails and pipes
and much other builder stuff
cluttering this place

Noise from up above
Noise from east west south and north
When will building end