with wonder,
even as you slumber
still as night.
For I would take you

under if your colors
bled to palest white. If you
were to burn me
with the scalding of
your tongue I would still

taste honey despite that I've
been stung. If you rained
shards of icy hail I would not
run for cover, nor be

windswept by the gale. For me
there is other. It puts me in
a bind. Because as you leave
part of me is left behind.

her swollen blisters
walking miles where no man goes.
She talks in whispers
trudging with bunions on her toes.

You don't touch her as she quivers
from the night's she's slept alone.
She is moon, sun and rivers.
You're a pebble, a skipping stone!

You cannot smell a rose's sweetness.
You're too busy pulling thorns.
You don't have completeness.
You're a ram, encrusted with a head of horns.

You cannot taste a drop of honey.
Bitterness sits on your tongue.
You cannot feed off all your money.
The only thing to which you clung.

what she knows. But
she doesn't know
me. She knows all
she's read and heard, things

that I've done, places
I've gone.  She's drawn her
conclusions on those
alone. She hasn't picked up

the phone to talk. She sees
what she sees. But she doesn't
see me. She sees pictures
on screens. So, she knows

how I look. But she hasn't
looked in my eyes. She hasn't
seen me cry. She hasn't held
my hand. She doesn't know my plans.

is a bank account. What you
put in is what you get out. Every
sweet word is a deposit. Kindness
paves the way to profit. Withdrawals

are made from criticism. When
you disrespect you are depleting
your share. And in time you will
find that there's nothing

there. Relationships are
an investment. It's time to make
an assessment. If you take and take
you'll drain the well. Don't raise your

voice. Don't pout and yell. Memories
are receipts. Not everything comes
with a return. What you put in is
what you will earn.

brings us together
Time
draws us apart
Time
makes the rose bud grow
Time
destroys them in the snow
Time
is a thief stealing our days
Time
is a sneak that hides in the shade
Time
is endless to the young
Time
to the old is a fling that has flung
Time
one can never get back
Time
shows all the wear and the cracks
Time
Is a teacher to the wise
Time
is frittered away by a fool and his lies

since she flew down
south. I haven't heard anything
from her that was word
of mouth. I look at her pictures,

still frames of her youth. I dabble
in the reverie afternoons drinking
vermouth. She'd flitter and flutter
flower to flower, flapping wings

in an early evening shower. When
the grass wore its coat of gleaming
white was the day she took her first
flight. I thought she'd be back

to hear the bluebird sing and
see the cherry trees blooming
in the spring. But as the days melted
into years, it didn't wash away a single

drop of my tears. So, memories I'll
frame. Hanging them on my walls,
they all look the same. I cannot hear
her chirping over my morning cup of

coffee, or see her nest flossy
in the trees. Like the autumn leaves
she blew away. And after she left
the cornflower skies turned a silver grey.

because she carries
the weight of the world
on her little shoulder. As she
grew older it only doubled. So,

she built herself a bubble
and lives inside of it. It's
round and the walls are
made of chocolate. No floor

or ceiling is there. No couch
or armchair. She's suspended
in the air. Here she dabbles
and she doodles. She eats

buttered noodles. She drinks
pansies and peppermint. And flings
her lines to print. She never did
marry. No one wanted Carrie.