In my dream, there is a broken bridge.
That bridge impossible to cross.
Yet, all is possible
                     in the land of dreams.
So,
why fret?
Except, this:
                     In my dream, there exist this broken bridge.

I like Honey.

Honey likes sugar in her coffee.

And, I love Honey at my side,

Sipping dark heaven’s roast.

Hers, a bit sweeter than mine.

Ordering a drink.
      I really need that empty glass.  

The lights are slow.   The pace
                        is dim.    The room
         has a sense of non about it.
A piano man plays
                    tuneless  songs.        
Dancers…
                               …don’t.
                    
                   And couples    stare    
            slowly
     past each other.

The way we rewrite
Our histories,

The way we polish
Our achievements

The way we conceal
Our all our flaws

I have to wonder
About memory

Was I ever that "me"
That I recall

I would write with letters bold
and stylish flare to break the mold.

Italics letters, I would like.
To make them seems a fright.

The very size of any font:
big or small is what I want.

Style settings won't transfer
Boring text makes me grrrrr!

Editorial control,
That is what I want to know!

Nine muses attend the burning
of creation. Sing they.
Songs of sadness. Flames
fill the night.
Smoke carries the knowledge of Ptolemy across the sky.
Fire
from Caesar’s burning fleet*
ignites the home of Euclid and Heron.

Words that knew the world reduced to embers.

Again
My pallet rejects
My somnaic advances

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