to me, his smile was the best
it was the morning coffee;
i like to drink when i rest,

it was the sound of rain
that gave shivers down my spine.
and only his smile,
could tell me everything is fine.

his smile i used to think at night,
what should i do without you my love?
your smile is the inspiration i write,
a gift that was sent from the above

Radiant dawn born
Like the morning dew dripping
Off of the treetops
And the planted hopes within
That he won't be lonely when

Radiant dusk dies
Like the aged life left alive
After grass clippings
Fall outside the window still
For one final time, he cries

i see heaven in your eyes
and you see sincere in mine.

The loss of your father,
no matter how old you are,
changes your life forever.
Your dad is your protector
who keeps you safe and secure.
You never really get over the loss.
You learn to live with the loss,
and he is never far from your thoughts.
There is an indescribable amount
of grief after losing a father.
Losing a father often means
losing a protector,
a guiding hand,
a best friend,
and a superhero.
But focusing on all
the incredible memories
you shared and the amazing man
he was can help bring light into your darker days.

making love with no love
(kissed her with his freedom)

<•>

a new person in an overnight stay in a strange,
aptly named,
bed and breakfast

and

you do all the same things that just feel good, careless loving
that comes from practiced renewable remembering,
kiss her neck for hours, drink in her crescendoing cooing

rename her Appalachia, bemused, wondering why,
she gasp-asks, when your tongue traces her odyssey body
from her Georgia to her Maine, then no need to explain

it all feels familiarly strange, imbalanced, shaky, loving the thrill
of your first solo bike ride, an invisible hand letting go,
the wow of walking the line of new freedom and
old responsibility that you have walked on both coasts

carry on, love is coming to us all lyric, enacted-recalled,
loving yet another
long cool woman in a black dress with unquestioning

how to explain to her, how to yourself, loving with no loving,
and the best you can stammer is it is like writing a poem
with too many commas or none at all

she laughs you up with one mouth lingering,
then one amazing kiss on your heart
and nose,
grabs a piece of toast and gone girl,
then you are returned to alone, to the dreams that
may or may not have occurred and two hands overflowing with
too many commas
and none to keep
<•>


11-18–17 2:54am, somewhere

The sous-chef of the albinos says
I'm in charge of cooking, baking and roasting
and in this hell-stance my delusions rules the roost
I've got the Crème de la crème and arsenic in tincture
prepare the grills and flames for a banquet of homicidal delight

Get that deer, King of the forest and protector of all
heave that Buck down, none but I holds power in this domain
its times of discontent, green eyes and walking dead are hungry
from challis of Madam White Snake and the shroud of San Lucifer
a sacrifice, a sacrifice for cold hearts and all mothers of the spawns

The belly crawlers and spawns in Hades kitchen toil
to high jack the mind of this regal imposing stag unsurpassed
hounded, mud-spattered, neither the raging winds nor savage beasts
snares and putrid guile's, poisoned mindless and shameless tarring
the buck bedded in Mother Nature in solace true and enduring light

So the sous-chef of the witless albinos says, no matter...
lets get a clone of that regal buck, sharpen knives and slice away
pepper, season hung, drawn, quartered, boil and simmer all the way
go tell tales of our magnificent menu, that stag is ours, for the eating
a merry feast for you all, pieces of eight for the dead deer's chest, ahoy, ahoy, ahoy.....!!