A man in a tombstone
On a phone

Waiting passed the dial tone

Icicle
A cycle
From drops to solid to drops

Life sometimes I do not
Like your diabolical
Nature

But I'll ease into a chair
To study this classical
Life - Icicle

Leaf and mist
Like life
Pressed
Between book pages

Like a candle lit
And human wit
Both move and sit
Like leaf and mist

Here I sit

Alone

One waitress

Crying to a Queen song

She serves me coffee

I drink then leave

And on my napkin a coffee stain

What is me?

Young eyes do not see
Walls
They create and pave
Hallways

Young eyes do not
Know
Instead new intuition
Grows

Young eyes do not
Criticize
They see opening
Skies

Young eyes do not
Mistrust
They are full of
Wanderlust

But Young eyes grow old
With aged stories told

Tired they fold and open
Ascend then descend

On earth again
With new Young eyes

Don’t become a tree
Knot

But rather be a cosmo-
Naut

As we met for dinner
Our fallacy at the center
Was the undistributed Middle