Theoretically,
we die from the moment conceived

Functionally,
we die when beset with disease

That space in between…
the land of our dreams

Where spirit’s transform
—our souls to release

(Villanova Pennsylvania: December, 2019)

I wake up tired. Stinging, aching, burning, Sore-
good morning, ceiling
of drywall sky.
I wish I could curl up, warm, tight, soft, light-
goodbye, life.
I'm ready to die.

"Not yet, you have stuff to do today"

He chants in whispy grounded words.
Wordy biting, chilling curse:
Imaginary friend of mine, a lifeline all the same.
Whisper what you want from me, don't leave! I'm not a game.

He played me yet again, I see.
I'm as alive as any gal can be.
I went through days waiting for him,
but he only comes when the sky is drywall.
When my world is aching, quaking, shaking- Melting at the touch.
He only comes when I need a hero,
SuperStagnant, comin' in for the clutch.
I hate you.
Yet I need you.
We saved me,
Now I'll leave you.
-----------------------------------------------
------------­--------------------
For Christopher, my imaginary friend since I was 9. I miss you.

Are you lost inside nostalgia,
blinded by its call

Self convinced the past is king,
old romance to enthrall

The facts proclaim much different,
in science and the arts

Awareness of what we’ve become,
the most illusive part

What you bought for fifteen dollars,
that CD with thirteen songs

Now can buy the music world,
Ipod’s carry on

The doctor’s diagnosis,
beyond mere life or death

An MRI can then confirm,
and protons will arrest

The scope of human nature,
to hold on and not let go

Ties us to a bill we’ve paid
—resent from long ago

(Villanova Pennsylvania: December, 2019)