Buddy, can you spare word or two?

Expressing the greedy silence
A picture’s worth of words
Swallowed whole by memory’s avarice.

Wishing wells charge five cents for
Lies it disguises as your dreams and
Sells for a penny a dozen accidents.

Ascending into the ravenous night,
Darkness craves sleepers who whisper
Hungry with the first sun’s frowning light.

Handmade gifts thoughtfully cost a
Harem’s ego, yet steal away all hopes
From the receiver quietly plagiarizing quotes.

Gracefully I lept over four word puddles,
a tutu laden pink dancer without her
penguin waiving a stick in front of
without an eighty piece band.
Lexicographers cry and streak the pavement
raining possessive determiners
As I try to rescue those nouns and that verb
from washing away down gray grates
toothy gateways open like mouths
to the sewers below.
Perhaps I’m late to save portmanteaus
from my brain smog.
Forgetting prepositions and
their phrases, going where to there
I haven’t a sense of direction
nor know which path to take.
So I explain and you listen all patience
And smugly knowing the definition of milk
And salt. Even a small three letter word
the subject of my sentence: frozen
water hanging in a dark cave
like stalagmites or stalactites,
So important hanging or protruding
the way they do because their
directions are very dangerous to
the blind observer.
So don’t lose your directives or
your objects, either,
and make sure not to lose, for heavens sake,
any pronouns, or else they, you know them,
or even we and us, but certainly not him or her,
Could spend all day waiting
just for you to finally


Female. East coast transplant living in the Bay Area of California. Living with Stage IV breast cancer. Married to the coolest guy in the universe who occasionally suffers from serious depression. Love my stepsons, although I never thought I'd have that thankless job - ever! And my best friend Simon is also my cat. How I have survived with stage IV: treatments including chemo and surgery; palliative oncology; tenacity; a dark sense of humor; support groups; and my newly reinvented career as a vintage and antiques maven. Some days I miss the old me who led a well respected and well paid life as a business strategist in high tech. So much for that. I blog to simply share my experiences and my poetic approach with others who have cancer of any kind or with their care givers and those who love them. If one person at the very least finds a little commonality or a friend out in the ether tor a smile, a common nod about this experience, or even a link to assistance, then I have accomplished a small but extraordinarily meaningful goal. Go team.

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