The formation of my mind is
              slowly being chloroformed
      within a blanket of fumes
I struggle to expel my meanings

There slowly going numb
           like a reflection diming.
I write a  sentence in the sand
           but its just gets washed away...

Here in this dim, dull, double-bedded room,
I play the father to a brace of boys,
Ailing but apt for every sort of noise,
Bedfast but brilliant yet with health and bloom.
Roden, the Irishman, is 'sieven past,'
Blue-eyed, snub-nosed, chubby, and fair of face.
Willie's but six, and seems to like the place,
A cheerful little collier to the last.
They eat, and laugh, and sing, and fight, all day;
All night they sleep like dormice.  See them play
At Operations:- Roden, the Professor,
Saws, lectures, takes the artery up, and ties;
Willie, self-chloroformed, with half-shut eyes,
Holding the limb and moaning--Case and Dresser.

Sometimes I never think about you
but then there are times when I do.

You came and went
in a month of spring madness
like a butterfly
squandering it’s exotic life
in a colorful three day rush.

I do not want to be
a collector
of chloroformed wings.
Then I think about you,
and sometimes I do.

Dumpster back alley
Just about dark
Watching the gym parking lot
I know exactly where she parked

I hear the parking light timer click
I took all the other lights
So only one light comes on
Chloroformed rag so she doesn't fight

Last car in the parking lot
Here she comes in work out wear
Long dark hair, white smile
I'm going to love to strip her bare

Looking through her bag for keys
I creep up behind her silent
I say hello, go to use my rag
But she suddenly becomes violent

Hits me with her bag
Judo chop into my neck
Grabs my arm and breaks it
Dumbfounded, what the heck

She shoves my own rag in my mouth
To sleep I go quickly
Didn't realize she was a black belt
When I wake up, I'm in jail in the city