One of those things
you did for the last time,
but,
at the time,
you didn't know
it was going to be
the last time doing it

Rummaging through the tool box
There must be something I can do to fix this, I thought

Just emptiness

It's hard to knock
on a cloud,
the haze, all the silence
Anybody home up there?
I wonder, how many floors does Heaven have?
How many flights do the Angels have to climb to make it to the top?

I need to speak to someone in charge, this is just, not working

Take my hand, empty head
trusted inkwell, drag me out of bed
Write me out of this blank stage
a dance of words, mark up the page
Teach me the steps, glide my pen,
from a closed position to scribe
once again

Molly freckles
with a heart shaped patch
in the middle of her coat
of pleasure....
What could she be thinking
inside all that love?