My daydreams are like clumsy little thieves
poking about for something of value.

Have at it you rascals!

I have some time, and no reason
to put locks on the door.

Despite being an amateur
paperback writer wannabe,
whose storied protagonist
stars colporteur wannabe
(thinly veiled cover as yours truly),
whereby his antagonistic doppelgänger
donned as a frotteur trumpeting
animalistic, chauvinistic, egoistic,
averse to gradualistic, individualistic...
narcissistic, opportunistic hauteur
with a penchant for littérateur,
whose favorite genres
constitute the blending
(think Louis Pasteur)
of one criminally and mysteriously
hellbent expert pathologist,

New Year
New time to live
New dreams and new desires
New strength to avoid life’s trials
New Hope

i found a red light that turned to green
the moment i sped past

that hour’s train thundered above as
i threatened the glossy paint
against the stone trestle
of the railroad bridge

the fog of thinking dissolved on that
cold road as I watched it
consumed underneath,
seventy miles per hour
pulling the yellow snake
across the black

i thought about abbreviations
the way you squeeze otherwise respectable words
as you punch out the order for a classified

A beautiful word
that means so much.
The sound of it
rolls off my tongue
with joy.
Right now.
In this moment.
Opens you
to everything,
making it possible.
Say it with a smile.
Meet it with warmth
and kindness.
It is there just for you.

"She walks in beauty, like the night".
A famous poet penned.
Did he know her in another life for
To love her I am condemned.

How cruel is fate, unjust, unkind
To leave it late for me to find the woman I have sought so long.

The years between a chasm,
Decades too wide.

And though a friendship blossoms
Deep as the deepest sea,
I know, I know, howe’er I yearn
Some things can never be.

(any relationship between the following poem and living persons -
namely the writer of these words ranks as purely coincidental and fictitious).

This cat
doesn't sit on a mat.
He sits
on my balcony.
He comes
whenever he wants to.
He stares at me.
He did so
just yesterday.

He arrives
when he feels like it.
He goes
because he can.
Due to this,
I need flywire
on my window.

He's a beautiful cat,
but not my cat.
He just likes me
and my balcony.
And that's the story
of the cat.

Dead at the fall
Of the lover’s hour

For the sin
Of love

Venus with
A human soul

I will adore her delicate face,
touch her tender cheek, unguarded.
But it will be her bouquet
that will make me neglect
all else belonging to the moment.

Ascending beyond the Angels,
I will hardly remember
this cold day of January,
as she sleeps here on this branch
blanketed in a dusting of snow.

This cold day,
where I am still
charmed by her visit
last Spring.