Within the apothecary
of my treasured past memories
each rubber stoppered bottle
contains at least a trace
of you

The Cutting Edge

Shredding night with razor dreams
that brutalize its sleep
a tortured soul suspends itself in time
ankle deep in foreign mud
beneath a weeping sky
without the love of metaphor or rhyme

Why did your ghost remind
me of what you looked like?

Why did it sneak up on me,
unwanted
(yet still honestly desired)
in the morning?

That was rude,
my friend who lingers
on the fringes
of my sanity.

It was unfair
for you to come
like rain unannounced,
to stir up a storm
of thoughts
that flock in rebellion
of my chosen occupation,
all the while singing your name
ad nauseam.

The dawn comes, another one goes
yet darkness grows.
No sun to rise
into my eyes.

Your absence dims the lofty sky;
its blue turns shy,
then muses fade
into the shade.

Aida’s Dinner Guests….

Suddenly it’s clear the glass has been wiped,
an age old custom had been strewn across
streets of perfect blue tar.
But the miles and inches ahead were not
mine, though I surely had travelled them
you could see that al the chemist had been
clever in his deceit of rudimental substance.

the eclipse
a cold wave
the lights come up
and a dawn surrounds
us at the distance

we are the dark blind
in the eye of the fear

fixing tourniquets
in little worlds
while the winds prepare
to whirl
we fix a word
and mouth our prayers
repairing the breaks
with floss and nail
polish
memorizing our loyaties
when we are swept apart
by tides of fear
ready for the forthcoming
year

Yahoo! Woohoo! Yeehaa!
The yobbo checks furtively,
to make sure everyone can see,
he is having fun.

Introspection fills my mind
on my walk from woods to home this eve
of all the loved ones left behind
leaving me alone to grieve.

Stars appear slowly one by one
I hunch my shoulders from the cold,
another day now come and gone
as both the year and I grow old.

I turn left when I reach the road
my staff resounds on asphalt street
on the final stretch to my abode,
a course I so often repeat.

shinny in gravel indifference
the hot flies of summer we took shots at
in the rain gathered on rooftops
the overhangs
flanges and open doors
stairwells of cooking piss and dust
the darkness grounded
the skies drifting past the doorframe freedom
someone always had a smoke a ten

the girls were always on he roll
like the surftide beyond the b each
where we wallowed free and high
crashing down in the dead quiet of
autumn watching leaves

Valley’s of the Mind

My valleys and hills and mountains bare.
Tell stories of love spoons and things to share
yet hidden deep is a trust of your fellow man
where mines are carved by man's hands.

Listen well to those words singing in your heart
they are of the Spirit that I wish we had taught.
Lost tears for all those times gone by
yet the valleys will live again you'll hear them sigh