I am writing this as
I stand -beer in hand- watching
Neil Gaiman being

Interviewed on stage in
Oslo. He has more to say
Than many, to poets

And those living lives; others.
"Writing is like composting.  
You have an idea. You

Leave it to rot... and
Things will grow
From it."

Quiet flowers rest
In garden full of angels
Squirrels play on trees

there is nothing
more earthshattering
than discovering
someone you loved
is a stranger;
nothing more than a
monster in a familiar mask

Woke up
still drunk,
I feel so sick
listening to Cigarettes After ***
while writing this.

These tears I held back
for a few years have
come and gone and
now I'm hungover.

orchids exotic captured
the man's botanical eye
they were so beautiful
in display
with delicate petals
and a scent
of heady romance


the wheelchair bound New York
cop saw defining evidence
of the exquisite
bloom
his heart elated
by the flower's
gorgeous
loom

there under his real
name of Raymond Burr
he established
an orchid garden
on a Fiji island
the climate perfect
for growing
and nurturing
the plant species
arresting of sight
so sublime
its vision's delight