In HAsTE

         The flights she climbed
     to reach the heights of sublime
     love, felt and lost in an instant
        of madness; all because
                 she said yes,

                      while

  the toymaker only played a game
 to make her smile, while at the same
  time, breaking her heart in an instant
          of madness; all because
                  she said, no

                       wait!






                                                                               don't go.

A Crime Of Passion

The white faces with a nose of slope
where sight slides
right down, landing right
at my center with the light
hearted fun of candy corn
that bites like licorice.

An extra layer of mountainous flesh
hides this hearts' beat;
so it might continue despite
the tragedy of broken bones
and words funneled through cones
of melted bits I scream
into dark rooms that echos it back;

where the he's and she's care less
about the buckets of thoughts
stacked side by side
inside the halls of this soul,
the only visitors to grace
its presence. If only they'd unpack,
hanging a picture or two, I know
the echos would surely cease?

Broken

The knuckles rubbed raw

from the sandpaper walls,

punched! in the face

on a route to escape

from the lever

pulled and engaged, forever

on the very same day

the rule, always to obey,

broken

with words that never should've been spoken;

guaranteed never to be, again.

A(sad)PART

...Looking through the window to pain...

   The voice of reason said, "Let it go."
And she replied, "Okay, it's time."
                                                      -- and so she did.

goodbye, my friend.













-------------------------------------------------------------

Breakdown

She found the key to the shed
where the tools and the go cart
waited like a death bed.

She knew just what tool to pull
from the dust covered shelves,
tinkering with this and that.

She rode that go cart
with the greatest of ease; until
the day she decided to leave,

where she left the go cart to sit
on the side of the road where its
oil drips, to emptiness.

By The Way

The highway moves fast, inside
the unending swoosh sound
of the people moving on
with their lives,
   passing by
this ol' clunker,
propelling this ol' soul
from place to place; only
ready to collapse at any moment:
unless, the guard rail
jumps out of the way.

A Part Without The Why

 

 

a gift lost

is still a gift

even if

it hurts like hell!

 

 

 

 

----and the weeper weeps----

for evermore.