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.

Hello, my name is
- - - - and I am an
addict.
I am broken glass
and scattered paper.
I am but detritus
cast aside by self.
I betrayed my family
with a bottle.
I am an
addict.

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.

in each other's warm
embrace for fifty one years-
tandem bicycle

Encounter of the fourth kind,
my world no longer earth at your
death.

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.

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.

cannot get rid of
the voices in my head-
faulty connection

Kno(po)w(er)ledge

black hole distortion
inside event horizon-
finally bankrupt

ash of cities
left by burning atmosphere-
a temper tantrum

Awake late,
seance with haunts of
elsewhen, embracing,
past lives, memories of
long smiles and pressed
kisses between the pages
of the mind before vanishing
into the tent of dreams.

Now as you go forth into
the world, Facebook be with you.
May Facebook give you peace,
wisdom, and knowledge beyond
understanding which transcends
your numbers of approval.
Thus ends the Benidiction.

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

Companions
in love, out, in,
reaching, rejecting, drama,
cursing, cuddling, crying, smiling,
using, supporting, arguing, living
surreally.

BgOdX

Broken words.
But we try.
Broken glass.
But we hope.
Broken songs.
But we sing.
Broken  lass.
But she loves.
Broken words.
But we speak.
Broken bad.
But we care.
Broken songs.
But we sing.
Broken lad.
But he loves.
Broken you.
But you fight.
Broken me.
But I try.
Broken home.
But we sigh.
Broken we.
But we struggle.
Broken strangers.
But we welcome.
Broken world.
But we stand.
Broken light.
But we shine.

Broken childhood: a time of
bullhorn accusations,
multiple contusions,
latch key abandonment,
Christmas disillusionment,
an alcoholic atmosphere,
an alien in your own life,
murdered imagination,
cartoon relationships,
parents without boundaries,
the Dark Web of life.

FB weltschmerzen and Google distress.
Time for gemutlichkeit, bathing in
rays, almost cocooned in a hammock.
Please o sun, wrap me in your warmth.
Mother Life rock me with your concert
of natural lullabies, perchance to make
love with visions as I nap.
O, if Depression comes, can Joy be far
behind?

Childhood: that other universe
of imaginary friends,
windmill-summer days,
autumn county fairs,
frosty Christmas walks,
breezy spring dances,
and personal tribes.

closely                                                                                  hallelujah !
              moving                                                        crescendo
                             breathless                    oh oh OH OH
                                                 tête-à-tête

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

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 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.

The cadence of your words is
different,
your inflection not the
same.
Phylogenic
synonyms,
we are genotypical
antonyms.
We argue using words in the same
order
as we construct verbal
walls.
I guess the wedding is
canceled.

forbidden planet
amidst an ocean of stars-
social distancing.

Dividing property.
Who gets the children?

Studying endangered species: the poet watchers.

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.

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.

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

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.

Focus on
the images;
and snap the
pictures with
expression.

Please keep reading. You are important.
This poem will begin soon.
You will not be disappointed.
Please keep reading or you may miss
a life changing experience.
This poem will begin soon.
Please keep reading. You are important.
This poem will begin soon.
Please keep reading or you may miss
a life changing experience.
You will not be disappointed.
Please read carefully:
I regret to inform you that my muse will not
return until further notice.

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

Fireworks for the new born,
awards for the eighth grade,
the senior parade,
a couple kneeling at the altar,
gathering mud and mortar for home,
community building with friends,
over fifty years of love, laughter, and tears,
a good bye before turning out the lights,
the five stages, and I'll join you soon
aloft in glorious illumination.
Good night.

I have been meaning to tell you.....
Want you to know....
You really are....
So difficult to put into words.....
Will you? Won't you?
Oh, this is frustrating.....
Since first, I saw you.....
Then she said, " shut up and kiss me."

scientist creates
a fictitious candidate-
canine elected

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

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.

An inflammation of the brain,
your image ubiquitous, your
form engraved In my mind.

This feverish madness possessed
me from our first.  
The fever also afflicted you.

My tears stain your monument
as I stand here still sweetly
insane after all these decades.

She was my alpha and
omega.
I was not her first, but I was her
last.
We took it to the nth, irrational
together.
We were an unreal pair of
numbers.
Our intersection lasted for
years.
But she took the leap into
infinity.
Our union became an empty
set.

MUST warn the Earth. Too
late!