I toss, I turn.
My blankets—too warm,
then too cold,
like storms across my skin.
My thoughts go.

Never silence—
just a pain burning behind my eyes,
a mind wired
to a clock not built
for this reality.

I get up and circle my room,
Sit down, play a tune,
Write my ghosts onto paper,
Reshape my pillow.

A breeze,
a hum,
a passing car—
all rise like ghosts,
but none loud enough
to drown the ones in my head.

“Please be quiet,”
I whisper to my mind.
But instead,
it grins and says:

“Remember what you did 10 years ago?”
“Wasn’t that moment strange? Embarrassing? Wrong?”

I give no reaction.
I’ve learned:
engagement feeds them.
So I lie there,
Handing off insane,
hoping the ceiling swallows me whole
And take away my pain.

I cannot shut off—
not until I’m lowered, into a silence
Surrounded by the mournful,
deep enough to dull the thoughts,
until I’m sealed away
and my mind finally softens.

Deep the rose unfolds
In the silence shadows speak
Love can come with thorns

I can’t tell you how much I miss her
or I might begin to cry
it may just be the idea of her
and my memory is a lie
either way, there is a deep-rooted longing
the need for companionship and belonging
someone to share my love and passion
feel free to call me old fashioned
but I miss her whoever she was or could be
her that fulfilled all my needs
where have you gone the love of my life
I know the answer I know that you died
tell me how I fill that void
that hole where a heart once sat
now those feelings I try to avoid
now I only deal in facts
the fact is I talk to strangers
about everything but love
how can I tell them how much I crave her
about what really is and was
now I use my body to numb the pain
so many strangers
so many forgotten names
I can’t name her
or remember her voice
I can’t even say she loved me back
or that she really had a choice
so please please cut me some slack
if I step out of line
and if I look a little down
please ask again if I say I’m fine.

Some days say
They need a change
And will gladly give
Their spot away

Feeling tired
And uninspired
With this weekly gig
In which they’re hired

All Monday knew
How to do
Was start the week
Off with the blues

Switched it up
With Friday
Who'd had enough
Of partying

Tuesday and Thursday
Stayed in place
Not much for them
Would really change

Never been known
For causing waves
However early or late
In the week they came

Wednesday left
Its middle ground
Taking Saturdays spot
To piddle around

And Sunday itself
Pretty much kept
Its sacred spot
As a day of rest

Not quite sure
If you ask me
How this will work
Throughout the week

My best guess is
Before too long
They'll all go back
To where they belong

Giving Monday back
The basic blues
Where you find in life
You don't always get to choose...

HAIR! HAIR!

HAIR! HAIR!

de Ma
couldn't bear to part
with any of me

not allowing circumcision
or indeed
the cutting of hair

and so my curls
cascade over
my tiny shoulders

until one day
de Da kidnapped  me
for my first haircut

the cut curls
falling at my feet
"There now!" said me Da

he made me swear
I wouldn't tell
me Ma

I kept my word
yet somehow she
knew

locked herself
in her room
for a week

refusing to
even speak
with me poor auld Da

and yet I survived
the shearing
and lived to tell

the tale
lost now
in time

I now an auld fella
curls cascading over
my elderly shoulders