Lord, I sure got the blues this morning.
Woke up with nothing beside me, but a pillow and a stain.
The gray clouds crowded around me,
And that drizzle became a pouring rain.

I feel so melancholy -
when I hear your name.
The sibilance of those syllables,
Triggers a recall, Pavlovian pain.

Music's like a wicked woman!
Fickle and sour as a pickle she can be.
Before you go dancing with that damsel,
You better check out the scars on me.

There's a reason or three,
they call me, call me, call me....
Mr. Meloncholy.

The plaster is off
and everything's fine
the rehabs a killer
but it passes the time
These weight bearing stretches
can't go on forever
as titanium rods hold my poor leg together.

I let the devil nearly catch me.
For I run.
Let him slide right up
next to me.
I consigned all the while he wrote
checks on me
So sure no fire could ever burn
the Lilly whiteness from my skin.
I made my bed in sin and lay
next to his evil grin
His eyes shone like his lies bold
Once highly favored son.
But what remains....come casting
Chains and chants
His nickname just for fun,
Once they called him Lucifer
you just sY....it Dunbothamenun.

I see all colors
in different perspectives...
excites sentiments
thus, instinctive poetry!

i have this sock,
it has a hole now.
the thinner threads tore, finally;
from daily wear and tear.

my big toe protrudes;
attracting quiet glances
that don't see my sock anymore,
just what it was trying to conceal.

No;
It's not the rhythmic thuds of a headboard,
Nor squeaks of well christened springs,
Sighing the night's discretions.

It's the strained veins glazed over red eyes
Seeing the clock strike 4 am.
Flushed in a solitary blue.