follow me,

in your
naked feet
under
the stars
to our
favorite place

follow me,

and
let's wish
upon a star
that tonight
will
never end


follow me,

and
let us
sensually
make love
under the
talcum powder
hued
full moon

follow me,

and
let us unleash
the wolf
in us,

and howl
as deeply
intertwined
lovers
at the moon

follow me,

follow me
to the place
where we
become one
and
make love,

over and
over again

as i gaze up high

i observe a forever ashen cloudy sky

begrudgingly one boot,
then the other

my genuine thirst for the day is solitude and cover

away, the place where people i push

tormented broken hearted mind of mush

"dear john" is not for me

even though this landscape is not where i want to be

dispatch the clouds

a lunar or solar moment my eyes will never see

set my mind and soul eternally free

basking in longevity under the canopy

the canopy of your shaded tree

yes,

i have written about you

i am sure that i have written about just about everyone

nothing bad,
nothing good,
simply something
everyday that i must do

i write about items that don't matter to most

i write about topics that most would never think
to write about

i've written about stop signs,

double yellow lines on the highway

i've written about how much that i prefer butter on my toast

i have written about so many things yet,
i know that there is still so much more

all i ever need to do is walk outside and be me

embrace and allow the moment to melt
deep within my core

my openness and willingness to fully absorb,

opens door after mysterious door

yes,
yes i have written about you

i have written about you even when you had no clue

black -n- blue,

sick with flu,


the old and new, the story always grew

yet, i keep it true

i have written about many things

but make no mistake....

i have indeed written about you.

i'm not a hot weather guy

i'm not that summer all year round kind of guy

i toil enough in direct sunlight and hot weather every day,

i have for a very long 36 years now

by early May i am no longer that white guy

i'm already that brown guy,

that savagely tanned guy.

i'm not a beach guy during the day

i don't need to kick sand up in the air with my feet

i don't need to build sand castles with the sun
declaring war upon my back,
my skin

to be fair i find "beaching it" a complete
waste of my time so i never even ponder it

i'm also not the guy that screams "Marco Polo"
in our swimming pool that i am never in

i'm not a boating,

water skiing
or jet skiing guy either,

i'm not missing anything

i don't need bonfires exclusively in summer like most do

i don't need more heat on top of heat,

i'm smarter than that!

i will take a bonfire in crisp autumn air with
the crackling sounds of fallen leaves under my feet

ill take a bonfire to warm my icy hands and toes
after i slide down a snowy country *****
on a rubber tube at lightning speed

i'm not a guy that lays in direct sunlight on purpose

oil lathered over my entire body and tortured skin

cooking my body,

sweating for no other reason
than for vanity and cancer later on in life,

i'm not that guy

i am a guy that likes to cozy and nestle up
in a fresh cool,

apple crisp midnights air

this guy lives for the first sight of a treed hillside blanketed in auburns,

golds,

spearamints,

pumpkins and cinnamons

the first snowflake to fall and dance upon my eyelashes

now that guy i am!

as a poet i also know that i can get just as breathtaking
a sunrise or sunset in the spring,

fall and winter as i can in the summer

so this guy doesn't need a summer time sunrise or sunset either

believe me when i tell ya...

this guy is just not a summer time guy!

a feeling of numbness overwhelms the body,
the mind and soul upon entering those doors

these are doors that you know you will never
pass through alive again

a great sadness,

pity and self pity surround you as the doors close

memories of a healthy life flash before your eyes
that no one else can see but you

the very edge of your world is clearly visible

you have journied here prematurely,

unwantingly

your body has been under siege,

under attack by a foe they claim has no equal

a cowardly foe,
a foe that is rarely beaten

the mind is as sound as the day you turned sweet sixteen

but now,

it also slowly gives in unwillingly

the twinkle in those eyes slowly begin to fade as well

you know that the nights of enjoying your favorite meal...

your favorite television show...

the early morning walks in the unmistakable fragrant
air after an evening's gentle rain...

the smiles you shared with those closest to you
when no one knew that you were even very sick....

those smiles are vastly different than the smiles
that merely seem,

feel to be nothing more than pity smiles now

but,

these are all things you know that you will never do again
after passing through those doors

will my loved ones miss me?

this plays over and over in your mind

will they be okay without me here,

without me near?

who will care for my four legged friend?

will he have a loving home such as i provided?

i can't help but think...

i can't help but feel that i am letting so many down....

helplessly i am being erased from the everyday landscape of my loved ones lives by a coward

a coward that plays hide and seek

a coward that never wants to be found until it's too late,

until everyone has given up and gone home

my footprints may no longer be visible in a while,

but i hope that my life and the way in which i had lived it
has left or leaves a deep enough imprint for those closest to me

to remember me by,

to cherish me by...

even being prematurely removed from their lives as i was.

on my way into hospice i may have been numb, bewildered,

and filled with nostalgia of my life that once was....

i know on my out of hospice in spirit,

i will be free!

i will cry many tears for those that i have left behind without me

but........

on the other side of those doors i will finally be free!!!!

writing is lonely[...]

but most of the time you are in a room by yourself, you know

writers spend more time in rooms, staying awake in quiet rooms, than they do hunting lions in africa

so, it's a bad life for a person because it's so lonely and because it consists of such highs and lows, and there's not always anywhere to take these emotional states [...]

it's a life that's tough to sustain without falling prey to some kind of beguiling diversion that's not good for you

contrary to a generally held view, poetry is a very powerful tool because ....poetry is the conscience of a society [...]

no individual poem can stop a war — that's what diplomacy is supposed to do

but poetry is an independent ambassador for conscience:

it answers to no one, it crosses borders without a passport, and it speaks the truth

that's why ... it is one of the most beautiful and powerful of the arts

days and nights
of waiting

waiting for my
line to
flatten out

waiting for the
world to
stop spinning

longing for peace
of mind

longing for my
death free of
my own hands

longing for my restless soul to
finally rest

longing to get away from a world of
hatred and
******

please... ..

PLEASE!

do
not
resuscitate!