the moon is round tonight
covered by the grayish elongated sky
it shimmers a little light
containing smokes to remember
As people busy on the streets,
buildings so tall,
along apartments, &
a convenience store,
moving cars from left to right.
But tonight
is just incredible,
long lasting,
beautiful, &
breath taking,


moon*  *to gape at night.

You were the Barbie jeep engineer.
You were the 5-card pinochle player.
You were the gripe to do the dishes.
You were the patient mall bench sitter.

You were Elvis Presley records and
paper backed crime novels.
You were my new antivirus software.
You were the chatter in the middle of an
NCIS episode.
You were the "It's okay, sweetie" on the
other end of the phone.

You were the voice of every bathtime storybook.
You were the baking soda on my first wasp sting.
You were the green Ford Escort parked
outside my middle school every afternoon.

You were the loudest clap at my graduation.
You were the sticky caramel corn crumbs in the
living room that held the place together.
You were the laughter

You were the toolkit when my pictures hung crooked.
You were the cornerback baker, the pecan pie maker,
dance recital seat saver and the road trip driver.
You were the puppy-dog pill-giver and the
broken heart mender.

You were the church goer and the goodness seeker.
You were the black-haired teaser and the
very best secret keeper.
You were a prideful wig wearer and
wheelchair rider.

You were a cancer fighter.

You were my first call.
You still are.

You'll fight and you'll argue
You'll scream and you'll yell

You'll smoke because you're mad
You'll cut because you're numb

He'll block you out of his life
Only to keep you safe

He'll be thinking of you every moment,
Knowing exactly where he was when you called.

He'll ignore your call because he's got nothing to say,
Being ignored just isn't your style

You'll blow up his phone
Only because you care

No one is there for him so you try to be

He won't let you in,
He doesn't know how

It's just not his style,
But it's completely yours.

You can't wallow in your problems
Because then they become scars.

He can't speak right away because his thoughts become reckless.

You deal with him and he deals with you

You love each other deeply but it just might not be enough

You fight and you fight to stay together

The love and feelings are there
The passion is there
So what could be missing?

Why can't you make it work..

Seriously, though
What the ****?
Why can't I suffer from something fun
Like an uncontrollable ****** disorder

Random points in situations that don't call for it
Entirely unprovoked, untriggered
Bam, I *** in my favorite blue jeans
And then it's done

Sure, it would be awkward from time to time
I'm sure an ****** at a funeral is frowned upon
But it sure as **** beats sheer, utter terror
For absolutely no apparent reason

They just aren't beautiful anymore
They used to be inspiring and insightful
They would fill me with profound ideas
And this unique way of seeing everything

But now, they're just a hindrance
Another relationship done and over
Another friendship severed because
Why save someone who's just drowning on land?

If I had a dollar for every panic attack
To ruin a friendship or scare away a girlfriend
I would have enough money
To afford to do something about them

Late nights on the bathroom floor
Blurred and blacked out memories
****** fits and bleeding wrists
They just aren't beautiful anymore.

We're never
    happy
        with what
            we’ve got

We can
    pretend
        that we are
            but we’re not

Our narcissism
    knows
        no
            bound

And Echo
    follows
        every
            sound
...        ...        ...        ...        ..­.       ...        ...
(The sound of  glass shattering...
followed by footsteps padding along the forest floor...)
[Narcissus is running with the fairest Echo giving chase. She catches him...]

"But you always did such good!"
        Only 'cause I knew I should

"But you always gaze so lovingly at me!"
         Because in you, myself I see

"But you give to the needy, twenty-four seven!"
        I'm simply storing up my
        treasures in heaven

"And all of those spiritual teachings you mention?"
        That's just so I am the center of
        attention
...        ...        ...        ...        ..­.        ...        ...

She tells me, that
the night never ends,
but she would because
the Moon and I are
old friends.

my fingers have become bored with
the quicksand of routine
they prefer to dance erotically over my typewriter
frolicking like naked ballerinas
over an ancient stage
spilling their secret thoughts
onto blank page,
after their day job
threaded together
over my lap,
or bending over to
reveal the contents
of my burlap sack

they have taken instead
to jumping over cracks
in the nothing of night
stifling the sound of silence
with assortments of clicks and clacks
punching in the perfect pitch of keys
to leave Beethoven blind
from this symphony of notes combined

and just like that at last
they have unfolded some rhyme
unachievable with ink and pencil,
without the stencil of time
dictating to work inside the lines