what do you do, my friend
when life descends to
a sense of being in
a veritable vortex

a whirlybird
careering on,
tumbling here
and there while

we're needing ever
to stay perfectly intact
lest forward movement
is lost to us all for good...

and we feel out of sorts;
others are like forms in
a darkened fog passing
by us in a swirling mist

though there are pauses,
times when we are stuck,
seconds that we wonder
will it ever be okay again--

just the right wind can
infuse our sails afresh
and generate breath
past the hurdles

to a life for us
beyond this pain
and the pesky trials
to some quiet smiles...

so hang in there
my sad and
lonesome
friend

for the
maelstrom
of our lives
can ease so we

can joy recall
be happy
for now
after all

I blame my parents for being afraid
for teaching me every sharp edge of the world
and learning I might never be safe

I blame my parents for being lonely
for missing people I never had
and I know will never hold me

I blame my parents for the sleepless nights
for wondering if I will ever get it right
or one day wish I could go back in time

I blame my parents
because they are my parents
and I can blame them
for who I turned out to be

But when they are gone
and all I have are memories
I’ll just blame them
for leaving me.

Your fingers make their way in my mouth, wrapped in my tongue like a gift, digging my waist and softly ripping appart my psyche.
I am unwell for you, too ripe and too ready,
The sweet ache of my teeth holding down my pleas makes itself known
What is love if not ruin

I feel sick, so sick of myself.
I don't exist: calloused layers of shell.
This world is sick. War is more real than Hell.
Does good love exist? Is it more real than Death?
What will you love when nothing is left?
The soil is poisoned. Seeds freed from cycles.
Purge odious life.
Tears salt the Earth from true peace disciples.
No pain. No struggle. No strife.
Behind the mask there is nothing.
Behind my eyes there is nothing.
Before my eyes there is nothing.
Embracing void. Immortality.
Cannot be destroyed. Empty.
Embrace the truth.
Tranquility.
I quit. I quit. I quit pretending.
Pretending I am not everything. At last,
I find annihilation
in you.

my passion is broken;
i spend my days and nights
knitting, organizing,
drinking, waiting

writing poetry hasn't ever felt hard
so maybe it's the zoloft, maybe
it's the dull repetition of days
the humdrum chaos of getting older

i want to be kissed, hard
and deep and long,
by someone with strong hands
and unwavering concentration

i am happy and quite sad
and quietly fulfilling my duties.
i'm typing this at my desk
and it feels wrong and bad

my therapist told me the antidote to burnout
is variety rather than rest--
so let the various archbishops of my life be told
that i am so ******* tired

there is a man here, he is broken,
but in his eyes there is passion,
and in between my thighs there is fear,
and i'm absolutely frozen

so tonight i'll drink,
and knit, and write e-mails,
cross my fingers and pray,
that something magical happens

Love is,
Such a random assassin,
Love comes in,
As a personal whirlwind,

An amicable tangent in tandem,
With unbridled passion & reckless abandon,
An alluring assassin an emotion overloaded with action,
It strikes like a seductive serpent when it happens,

Seemingly striking at random,
Even when the attack is the result of meticulous planning,
Leaving the subject of it’s Love looking up scratching their head,
Dazed & confused wondering what the heck just happened,

Capturing what can’t be imagined it surprises even the wisest,
Has its target in its sights for awhile while schemin’,
But the lovestruck don’t see it until love strikes like lightning,
Breaking down all the defenses of its all too willing victims,

Without pretenses, premises or agreements,
Love jumps down from the clouds pounces out of the shadows,
& assassinates all shady characters without reservation,
Striking silently without sound then vanishing like a phantom,

His heart pounds,
He’d marry her if she’d let him,
But she’s still chasing her own imagination,
So instead of embrace him she’s on the run like an escaped felon,

Scared of a future with him,
Because of the past she had way back when,
She’s so caught up in the past of what she was back then,
That she loses sight of what she has right now with him,

& that’s just one of the reasons why love is,
Such a random assassin,
Love comes in,
As a personal whirlwind,

An amicable tangent in tandem,
With unbridled passion & reckless abandon,
An alluring assassin an emotion overloaded with action,
It strikes like a seductive serpent when it happens,

Seemingly striking at random,
Even when the attack is the result of meticulous planning,
Leaving the subject of it’s Love looking up scratching their head,
Dazed & confused wondering what the heck just happened…

∆ LaLux ∆

From the new book ABC, available everywhere.
https://a.co/d/2X7iWxd