Again
My pallet rejects
My somnaic advances

And
In the morning
I'll take it out against my coffee ***

I wake early in the day
to avoid judgement
in the eyes of people
who seldom look my way.

I go to bed at night
when they say I should.
“You’ll feel better.”—I don’t.
It stops the pestering.

I have to plan a busy day.
“You’re active that way
and won’t have time to mope.”
At least, that seems the plan.

I have no goals to reach in life.
At least, not of my own.
Any plans I think I hold
are simply held on loan.

standing in line
for mail
at the homeless shelter downtown
get a stamp…or
two?
letters
that fill her hand she’s writing
to the FBI
writing to the CIA
the DEA  
perhaps the NSA
wonder
what she wrote?

some days
she tells
of shadow people who plot
and scheme
she hides from
ghosts
and their attacks
they track her
she hides
inside a dream
or more accurately, constant nightmare.

she talks to people in the air
rambled words
furtive glances
she listens  
what are the words that are being said
but then
who cares
no one knows those words
just Crazy Mary.

She seemed to think my name
could be Clark Kent
and she knew my alter-ego.

But, my Kryptonite
is expectations.

...super.

What do I do to prove my worth and show my love for you?

I might ride a mighty raging steed to defend my maiden’s honor.
I could.
Well, maybe not. I’m very bad with horses.
I’d just fall off and bust my ***.
It would be a bit absurd.

I could pick you every daisy, rose, and mum; every flower in the world.
I could.
And make a huge bouquet.
But that would make you sneeze, I think
and no one else has flowers.

I could bring you down the moon and stars from their home up in the sky.
I could.
But where the hell would you possibly put them.
Your closet can’t have near the room,
and it’ll cause havoc in the tides.

I could give you the beating heart from my chest to prove my endless love.
I could.
For truth, no—I don’t think I could.
I kinda need it now to live and,
well, frankly that’s really rather gross. I mean…yuck.

How do I prove my love for you and convince you of my worth?

I hold your hand.
I hear your voice.
I kiss your lips.
I give you all my time.
For such a love as you
I could.

My ex showed-up again today.
Although, she’s not been here for years.
I wish she’d go away.

I feel, once more, that stabbing bite;
That poison dagger in my back
that twists at thoughts of her.

Those certain songs I hear at night,
or in some random woman’s hair
re-lives when love went bad.

But painful memories will fade;
at least that’s what I’ve heard them say.
Time heals the broken heart.

I wonder when that starts.

These days I dredge the past
                 for the kind of  pain
                      that used to drive
                        my words. Heartache
                 was the fuel of poetry
            and I drove those lines
                                  like a madman.
But, now that tank runs dry,
          which, I guess, is a good
                                  thing really.