cancer survivor
with a good attitude-
but a divorce?

Okay. Yes or no.
Yes?
Okay!
Later:O!

I thought a while
about your smile.
I thought about yesterday
and I thought about today.
Long past stars of light
are phantoms bright.
They are beyond our touch,
yet feel within our clutch.
If I could ride light squared,
I would see you there.
But I cannot tell
about particles ftl.
So I will dream of you and me
and what shall never be.

Winnowed chaff complains
of its unheard voice.
Listeners know better.

rags to
riches
blue moon

A dnc,
that day,
so long
ago.
I thought
I lost
my wife.
We never
had a
service
for the
baby.
We left,
never
went back.

Untitled,
unpedigreed,
a mongrel
of genteel
countenance,
the breeding
of
a perfect
gentleman.

forbidden planet
amidst an ocean of stars-
social distancing.

A paradox:
untitled and yet
isn't it?

a stone in the grass
with a beginning and end-
kisses from beyond

scientist creates
a fictitious candidate-
canine elected

starry night

and 1+1
= 1

the rain falls
on fertile
soil

expedition report:
earth off limits, protected by
canine sentinels

Too much Youtube,
Too much cable,
too much Facebook,
and too many RPGs,
with snacks on one side
and too much to drink
on the other,
and I'm
alone.

She will miss holding him in her arms.
His voice no longer rings aloud.
He will no longer commune with her
daily as she reads his mind.
Their lovable games are ended, and the house
is silent.
He no more stands near the door as he
waits for her or greets guests.
She puts his chew toy with him and
says goodbye.

It's supposed to be 2020,
but I think it's 1984.

It does exist, but not
in the weaving of spells.
It is real, but not
in rabbits pulled out of hats.
No wizard can produce it,
and it is not a magician's illusion.
It exists in lovers' kisses.
It is a new star in the heavens.
It is seen in the miracles of life
at the altar of wonder.

My love lost here,
but not there in
the worlds of if.

We were warm in the nestle of our curve,
a perfect fit.
We were skin to skin wrapped in silence
together.
I held you once more then opened eyes and
you were gone.
I sighed your loss, but embraced you
once more.
We were warm in the nestle of our curve
between the worlds

black hole distortion
inside event horizon-
finally bankrupt

Windrip,
fine example
of Sinclair's fictional
character who has now become
a fact.

I am alone, but not lonely.
In solitude, I feel the Other.
Deep inside the desert of self, I am rescued
by that small voice which rises above words.
I give thanks for the blessings bestowed on
me by that which I have lost.

I think I'm young,
know I'm the one,
with good looks too.
But then boo-hoo,
I look and see
who's  looking back at me!

The Chief
Orange may yet
get peeled, and the pulp chewed
beyond recognition, then tossed
away.

The stars look down with promise, those distant points
of fire, conjuring what ifs.
I ponder the alternate realities, the maybes that might exist.
Perhaps the answers lie just beyond the pane on which patterns
can be traced.
Figures emerge from the wall, a horse, a giant, a forgotten face of
past or future love.
And elevator music is the radio background as I am lost in
daydreams, wishing to hold someone in my arms,
not for love but for humanity.

Thunder,
lightning,
pyrotechnics
from
Alabaster Heights
are
a show
from sea to sea
to reinforce
dispossession
by those
who possess,
and are
Demons, sort of!

I'm caught, struggling,
held tight, in your
clutches.
I think,"one more comment
or link," but I'm trapped in
your web.

Two retired souls communing together.
One says,"Feeling strange, I can't see."
Last thing he said," honey, I love you."
He warned the family that he'd no longer
celebrate the holiday. That's why he wrapped
the gifts so early.
She still hosted a yearly family reunion on The
Midwinter Feast.
That tradition continued until one October
in the hospital.
We recently sold their house.

I hear the sprinkles in your voice.
I see the icing in your smile.
I feel the oven in your touch.
I see the pastry of your love.
I devour the fruits of your sensuality.
You are one exquisite dessert.

Driving home, I saw the shades beyond the white line
walking the ditch.
Then I knew the sun would not shine that tomorrow.
The night took me in its arms, not letting me go.
The next day I visited you.
You were happy I came to see you.
After that, your smile glowed, and you slept.
The following day, family arrived.
That afternoon, I sobbed.
Three days later, we said the prayer for the dead.
It's been three years plus.
I still feel your presence.
Because of you, I continue.

Saw her.
Fell hard.
She didn't.

A mystery photo
of cul de sacs.
Someone  I loved
for many years,
and she loved me.
The dress is a mystery,
yet I never asked her.
And her friends and
family(including her
first beau) did not
know.
A truly mysterious
past.

Powdered dust
beneath our feet,
brown grass, and
dry air is the atmosphere.
Nothing grows in this
environment, still we
have excellent hydroponics
and distill water from excellent
sand traps for condensation.
The only life here, this is
still home, heart of the world.
We wait for the ships to return,
thrusters firing.
Most will leave.
I will stay.

Imagine your self( no pressures)
as you're immersed in
bubbly.
Incense tickles your
nostrils.
You are open, if you desire.
Your warmth  invites and
beckons us to foreplay because
we shall be baptized
in raw, wet lust
without the morning shame
after. Let us be the animals
we are.
Your choice. And I will not
lie. You may be disappointed.
Will you invite me?
We can always cuddle after
or if you prefer, instead.

Wedding day.
My fiancé
flew away.

Coats of paint well applied
externally and color coordinated.
The trim contrasted properly
with no smearing.
An individual work which does not
clash with the neighbors, yet
is an open invitation.
An open house built upon good
foundation and sturdy structure
which is a signature to the craftsmen
who built it and dressed it.

The new year purge
is here again.
"What's that, you want
to drive away?"
"The lake is blue
and tempting."
Fine Lake Wilson.
"Ready to hang glide,
Beautiful?"

A knock on the door?
A hypnogogic state?
A blank porch.
A ghost or one of three?
A past, present, future.
A block of time.
A late night mystery.
A bedtime prayer.
A communion with the Eternal.
A Gate of God.

I need to go to sleep, to go to bed,
but sometimes have an empty head.
I sit up too long, too long awake
with thoughts of our give and take.
Perhaps I'll walk into our living past
then return to present life at last.
Finally, I head to sleep, to go to bed
despite my sometimes empty head.

Rage sits on a shelf.
It waits until united with motivation.
Then hate is lifted to the shoulder;
anger explodes in death.

Née in hospital wash bay.
Cut the feeding tube.
Whap voice into lungs.
Nature rolls the dice.
7-11 or craps out?

There is a certain
Zen
to owning a weapon of choice.
To lose it is
severing a
limb.

She's mean.
They'll never
find her!

The science
shows
It's
All chemical.
So what?
Scientists
who study
It
fall in
It.

We evolved together
through our ages.
Our relationship had
healthy mutations
worth preservation.
We left a legacy behind
after swimming in
the gene pool.
I lost you to extinction,
but your imprint lives
on in me.

Sound of train,
break over change,
morning commute,
chaos born, rhythmic
perceived patterns,
moving lines,
Pop's Douhgnut Hole,
morning meets,
morning greets,
seconds, minutes,
hours, a day,
Times Arrow,
sound of train,
break over change,
evening commute,
chaos born, rhythmic
perceived patterns,
barking dogs,
children waiting,
the arms of your
True Blue, and
you thank
God.