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S R Mats Mar 2015
It is truly cold out, 32 degrees,
and into late night.

But, in order for me to write

I stay up late, eating ****** Nuts and ice-cream
and letting my feet freeze.
S R Mats Mar 2015
I love this poem, but it is going to break my heart.  For

I wanted life for my Love.  There were such beautiful things about him.
Yet, the demons in him sought his death in ways so cruel.

He was Man who loved family, friends, and thrilled to living life within
Brief moments; when the ugly moments waned or his demons tired out.

The distruction, which we have made will drive us to our own, I've seen.
If I were a brain surgeon I would have gone in and exspunged the parts

That slowly ate at your heart, my Love, my always Love.
S R Mats Mar 2015
Waiting for Spring, lovely, tall ladies hold their breath and eye one another.
"Do we dare to open to the season?  Catch a breath?"

The dry leaves will soon crumble in the warm sun
And crunch under our feet; just so much fodder for chic maidens.

Inhale deeply Sol's rays.  Breathe!  Open to the season
And don your Spring bonnets, full-petaled.
S R Mats Mar 2015
When we are old and gray
(Which isn't so far away!)
Nicessity will call upon me to say,
"Honey, put your teeth in!"
S R Mats Mar 2015
Only the sum of a room,
Just so much accumulated stuff.

Once, I began to fall in love
With a man.  But it was his room,
The sum of his things, which cemented it.

As it turns out, he could not maintain his worth,
His values were papier-mâché;

And the objects in his room told lies.
2000 His room said that he was warm, caring, interesting, playful and deep.  He was none of those things.  It had all been staged as a lure, a clever game.
S R Mats Mar 2015
Are we junk?  Waste,
Shard and smear,
Empty symbol made by
“Doled out Poet’s papers,
Hoarded like sweets?”

Our awkward secrets
stumble
cislunar.
2003
S R Mats Mar 2015
Head trust, heart must cuddle,
Care and,
“More wine over here!”

Is this a dream?  All things are,
It seems,
Because I always wake up to something

Different.
I am forever goddess
By candlelight.  Poke out the eye

Of love,
That blind it might be,
And stupid,

Stupid, stupid.
But, there’s another crumb in my bed,
I just know it!
2003
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