I’m in the stacks high as a half floor of the classics held between the pages and wands and cups. Looking deeper your eyes burn holes with the investment of tonight or a lifetime.… Read More Look at me
You now hear my broken chords
Faintly in the the distance unmoored
Loosed and free until run aground
Upon a salty moore. Safely cleaned
I glean on the white million grain shore
And here I lay against my will
Here grounded evermore.
Yet I’ll still wake in the morning.
Habitually when my hands
Parting the sheets aways, sailed
Long gone I still reach after you.
I’m the water, the dew
Maturing into a pinguid mist
As the hands strike up the
Song we clap at noon.
The hour’s imminent.
Time to ride a wicked dream on
A silk weaved carpet twisted
With last night’s ghostly breath.
We never know how high we are Until we are asked to rise And then if we are true to form Our statures touch the skies Emily Dickinson from poem 1176 Happiness: an illusive inner state to those of us with terminal illnesses. Each happy moment rolls into the next, yet we drive through life… Read More And then there’s my cancer…
After life’s passing glory
The campaign marches on
Beating time tracking and tracing
Torsos with cold leather fingers
They drew my blood and sent me
To the mass grave I fell in without
Balance. And I lost my head.… Read More Uncertainty