The sea gulls— who fly in wanton
To the horizon, are a spirits
Calling, are sea songs falling
To my mind they falter— as I
Have known such cozen to the sun
That falls each day nor do I see
It rising.  My world is weighted,
Under, pass the lining of the quick,
By the mounted cloud which hangs silver
Over the plated night. The owl,
Whose eyes of Janus tails, when wanes
The lids, tied to crescent holey
Whelm of malevolent moon,

Praise over me, with wooly wings,
Is silent as shadow.  I may strut or run
But they do come as the shadows will
With cahooting sun, and the blotting
Bald faced moon, chiaroscuro—
The days feign and heaven pales under
The wake of the luna sea.

       In darkest daylight
I shamble toward the flat horizon
Where the seabirds fly, till their ends,
I take two-faced my faulty comfort
As I see them, falter, falling, yet never
Do they touch the gloaming ground.

And then you were gone-
No goodbyes,
No last words-
You floated away out of existence.
It was as if you never were there.
And I missed you-
Missed you in a way only I could.
I missed the torn half of my heart,
That seemed to crumble to dust,
When I found out you were gone.
And I cried.
It was a hurricane sweeping the pain away.
I knew I'd be alone,
And I hated it.
Because I was your daughter.
And I was alone,
Left by my best friend-
My father.
And you left me here

Mirror, tears in eye,
Her picture by bed,
No light in night sky,
Even moon is silent.

long white knives
that peirce through the
skin
of their prey
first they softly
puncture
thrickles of blood
dripping from the
fresh
pink
wound
then, they dig deeper
slowly
blood runs
faster
as the predator
***** it in
a maroon mess
finally
it lets go
and pulls the once
white teeth
now
decorated in royal red

The rose is a rose,
And was always a rose.
But the theory now goes
That the apple’s a rose,
And the pear is, and so’s
The plum, I suppose.
The dear only knows
What will next prove a rose.
You, of course, are a rose—
But were always a rose.