On the table is all quiet
it's the **** shellphone
everyone is fond of that
and all I feel is alone.

Nobody converses anymore
eyes riveted on the toy
I dunno what's in store
hooked is the girl and boy.

I must draw them to talk
for long there isn't a word
eyes just don't take stock
of the sky or a flying bird.

All islands in the ocean
I distract if I speak
only fingers are in motion
relations are falling weak.

The table is a silent scene
what should I say about
I speak to myself unseen
the wall is stubbornly stout.

.......Death just takes us.....
Our virtues and our vices
                So long!

Can you heal my
insomnia? Raise the bar
and eat your words.

You have stopped
singing. Take me moon I
am getting very hot.

Why people are dying
without blood? Someone
was sending the message?

Some poems don't
work.
No amount of
tweaking will
fix it.
You can't finger it until
it comes.

Push the delete
button and
start over.
You write because
you have to.
It's in your cells.

You're a salmon,
swimming up
stream to stay
alive.
You write because
the nuthouse yawns,
and beckons.
It waits.

The cage door is
open, and the
water is
tainted with
mercury.
Fly away, or die.

If the writing
isn't working,
go fishing,
eat a tangerine or
some brussel sprouts.
Be livid
Be silly.
Study the *****
and the orchid.

Think about what the
color black tastes like, or if
pink whispers or yells.
And write until
the trivialities take
flight from your
life.
In the surrendering,
triumph will come.