A jar full of worms:

they're trying to creep away --


without a leader.

Maybe someday people will speak of a great group of logical poets. It will be a group though. Maybe a help group for the more fragile ones. Not the type of fragile you are...the type that breaks. Carry on army, and tend to your fellow army members' wounds. Maybe someday you will see that you have fake bullets. Fully automatic, with hollow points and full metal jackets

You like my poem, then i'll like yours
we don't have to call it reading
even if yours could heal my sores
mine would be all i'm needing

i like your whole style of no style
nothing to do with form or function
you say it's not a one way street
when i see you at every junction

to be honest, it fills me with fear
hitting like becoming my being
then i will get roped into even more
when less is all i'm seeing

because this group is the real world, on a page, in cyberspace. My mind isn't real, because you can't see it, and it can't hit the like button for me. I must be as insane as you think i am.


It tickles my pickle to see the same poets that pointed at me years ago writing the same exact poem over and over. Talking about writers block like it's real. I stick to my guns and my guns are automatic. If you have a block, you're not a writer. You are still used for building though. Building what you hate, building what i love. I know some are blocks of ****, but they fertilize, at least. Thank you truly. If you hadn't kept putting me to sleep, i wouldn't have had so many awakenings. I do see the good, in blocks. One thing about a big block is that it gets cut into pieces, to make smaller blocks. Then you get mixed in with other blocks that you want no part of. I guess then, you and the other blocks just stand for that one building. You know...the 1 million square foot ranch. It has a basement, but no upstairs.

Little dots of light
In the endless void
Too far for my reach,
They come and go, leaving me



Alone



Sometimes in groups, sometimes just one
Little dots of hope, little ***** of light
Dancing they go, where? I don’t know
But unlike me, they’re not



Alone



But one time i tried my luck
And jumped towards the dots
Enveloped by light, they dance
Why don’t they flee? Why don’t they run?

They gently caress my soul
Sea of light fills me whole
Because the dots were never fleeing
I just hadn’t come close
And thanks to them, I’m Alone
No More

One foot in front of the other
We walk
March through town
Wearing our statements
Pride and strength
I walk
Step by step
Expressing support
For equality
One foot in front of the other
I march
To remember him
His smile and his friendship
Every face I pass
Replace with a memory
Of his gracious heart
And our witty conversations
I walk
In a group
Expressing pride and strength
Rallying in cheers and waves
To feel unity
To feel a part of something
I march
His ghost leads me
I keep watching for him
In a crowd of faces
Knowing with every step
I am closer to his memory

We collect in boxes
Pixelated faces
Shifting back and forth
Our voices clamor against each other
We gather in arrangements
Of electronic meetings
The pandemonium of the pandemic
Has us learning to live in a science fiction novel
Trading in the outside word
For our little cubicles
As we learn to avoid the invisible invasion
Trying to ****** our bodies
We assemble in various forms
Video or voice streaming
Learning to create, to produce
To live within the pixelated dots
Of the computer screen

And it was at that time.. in group..
when I realized that I had attained
enough healing, and could now enter
back into the normal   every day, world
that I looked back at her..
she.. who I had struggled alongside in
the trenches with for over two years
now-- each of us struggling just to hold
on.. in a crazy, ****** up world, that
just did not care

Yet still, she struggled to hold on to
who she was-- her spirit, coming and
going at will, as she attempted to deal
with the depths of her trauma..
her beautiful blue eyes, turning to dull
grey in those Ichabod-like moments,
when there was nothing left,  

but complete emptiness.

And as I announced that I was leaving
the group, she gasped..  I saw those
beautiful blues  go grey-- her small
hands, reaching for me..
her once, cherub-like face, now ashen
and tear soaked,  quietly pleading..

and it was at that moment, that I sat
back down-- putting back on once
again, death's skin.. all past dreams of
normalcy, fading away in to her grey..

the color, blue.. the most beautiful
thing I have ever seen..

A group like loose grains

is open for everyone –


to participate.