How different will it be if her laugh
was fleeting.
The sound would be deafening.

How difficult will it be to talk about
her grace.
There will be no trace.

How detrimental will it be to forget those
sparkling eyes.
They were full of lies.

How Dark will it be if her breath
was fading.
Oh, can the birds please sing?

Yes, does the mother bird sing
to her sleeping young.
Yes, does she wake them
each morning, with a full heart,
aware they may not make it,
and yet she sings with gusto.

She opens herself fully to her loved ones
because even if they pass,
even if they fly too short or plummet
from the well-kept nest,
it was always worth the morning song
and always were her children worthy of her love.

Inside my static dreams
Are acid screams

A sphere of broken glass
Spins
On alone a string,

If you pull my cords right,
You'll make me sing

For you, my heart sings a song
Maybe one day, yours will sing along
More likely than not, I’ll sing alone
Too late, my love for you made known
Come someone else, in (due) time
That sings a song, that sings with mine
Surely by then, you’ll be bygone
And for another, you'll sing that song
Another that isn’t me

Click-clack clatter claws at the doormat.
Right where our ramada had roofed a small rat.
"What was that?", asked the rat.
Which in fact, twas our cat.
Nearing fast to the rat
Who has asked, "What was that?"
Twas a blur, and a crash,
Then the black flash did slash,
But fell flat.

My heart sings to me in a way unknown before
It sings to me because of you
You make my heart sing

c.m.l.

/There is no fellow in the firmament.
              but only fire can cast down raging blood,
running through the city, flagrant
         smoke on a collonade of scepters, raised
— line by line: note the conspirator in the masses
                 Doth not Brutus brotherless kneel?/
traitorous hands, leaking red
                 /Speak hands, for me!
— from a dagger plunged deep through the heart of eruption it
                                          spills chaotical, arterial, sinful
                                      down and down ribbons of life
        crown in rotation: halted
on tumbling tyrrant, passes guiltless largesse from hand sought to
hands yet seeking, searching
[whisperings]
         "but on what grounds is usurpation justified?"/
         "what cavity yet persists in the dawn of these reds rising?"
kneeling king, sodden with loss
          bend for me —
                       Et tu, Bruté?/
screamitbloodymurdersingitholydivination
                      ­                 Then fall, Caesar.