This is a portrait of abandoment:
rusty spokes, faulty breaks, and negligent owners.

(I'm still lying on the sidewalk too, waiting for a reason to shift gears.)

Those ancient bones feel no remorse
They've trudged the mire and run the course,
Seeped the blood and moaned aloud
Despite the murmuring of crowd,
Despite the caw of she who brayes
Or of the friend, who nothing says.
Despite betrayals smoking gun
Or silence of the songs unsung,
Sweet sadly fading colour's pall
When rich chatreuse was your recall....
Loves lament in darkened lane
As lips, once kissed, now flee the flame...
Sad, so sad with no recourse
For ancient bones can't feel remorse.
M.

facebook:** let there be friends
twitter: let there be procrastination
youtube: let there be popularity
tumblr: let there be identity
myspace: let ther be new beginnings
google plus: let there be attention ******
skype: let there be real connection in a fake world
news: let there be war
blah therapy: let there be hope
hello poetry: let there be you

Oh, Jennifer don't you know
this is the land where the candy cakes grow, and
Jennifer laughed at the lollipop tree
which bent over backwards, eyes
smiling at me.
The apple pie Bush was in no mood to rush and simmered slowly away while the mince **** Gent gave part of his hourly rent to serve us both with chocolate bears in a billowing parachute tent.

how strange
the gift of contemplation
to allow the mind to wander
creating imaginary worlds
in our skulls
the ability to ponder
what meaning, if any
there is(n't)
in our fleeting days
we trivialize time
as a linear tool
by which we measure
our triumphs, losses
all the same
in the grand scheme
how strange
my arms and legs
moving, making
running in circles
to survive
but there's momentary bliss
in the recollection
of a beautiful day
with someone I loved
long ago
the clock stops
as does the pain
of existing within
such looming madness

Early spring morning  .  .  .
Chance meeting with old lover,                                                                  
  .  .  .  No flowers in bloom.

Dennis Doyle, a barrister,
gave up his job upon a whim.
Now what to do? A quest!
A quest he would begin.
A lifelong fan of the New York Knicks
He'd follow them home and away!
Tickets were a big expense
=Twenty five thousand he would pay.
Then there would be planes to catch,
food and hotels along the way.
He'd sit and cheer his heroes on!
Each night he'd watch Carmelo play.
Too soon, the losses began to mount;
he watched the season slip away.
It takes a special sort of soul
to sit and watch this team at play;
to seize defeat from victory ,
the Knicks would surely find a way.
To qualify for a high pick
they traded half the team away.

Each night He'd sit and glumly watch
This team that will not win a ring.
Is it all worth it? Who can say?
For the true fan, the play's the thing!