She gave.
And it made no difference to the stillborn sky.

She gave and he wanted more than she had to offer,
they both went their separate ways but ate lunch together
wished each other well and lived in separate hells.
After all, they were swans copulating
with tourist attractions
and then the rain fell down in white satin sheets and
old love lyrics:

"What do you want you poetic heretic
you've disarmed me, a poor-man's de Milo.

Now leave me alone. I

Where's the love in you
The love you claim belongs to me
When I fall for your convincing lies 
You shrink back leaving me high and dry

 I gave you my heart, you threw me a bone
A bare bone, lacking flavor
Just as I began to put the past behind me
Your vicious cycle of contempt tires me

I won't toss my safety net 
My zone of friends that love me
I keep it all inside, the joys I reap
From writing poetry, staying true, free

Writing poetry should never be better
Than sex

Mistakes, Mindless behavior,

tryed to see her different but my mind won't change her,

she opened up a part deep in depth , tears, and anger,

couldn't take apology's so that did me a favor.

Worked real hard and tried to be a good kid,

time slipped past me now im regreting simple shit,

zoning off the topic here I go wit this again,

supressing on a memory on a time way back when.

My bad to you, her, and him and,

it's hard to let it out when your emotions won't listen,

It is not only when I am alone
That I feel cold hand of desertion
Loneliness gnaws at me all the time
I tipped with love, not returned
Like water on back of a fowl
Poured out without a receptacle

After the clattering noises of children
Young boys and girls find their nests
The babbling crowd only an illusion
The rumbling thunder roars the return
Of dry season and cold harmattan wind
I sat under the eve listening to the songs

fingertip chipped nail
pushs the pretty pearl buttons
sweet stitch aperature

history ghosts
watch
along the
rippled hall
tired tile floor

fill my listening with
your words sung
by happiness's
lilt

sunwarmth touch
in a tomb spring heart
we keep up

Back in his youth when legs were strong
he never could sit still for long
'cause every view however grand
held no match to newer land.

As the years passed by and he gained age
with each day an added page,
he still liked to see new scenery
while leaning against some random tree.

Autumn became his favorite time
when standing waters first showed rime
for this was the special time of year
when he'd go forth and hunt for deer.

It was half past 3 am on Sunday night
down on Hawthrone st
I was keeping to the light
just workin’ the old beat

Not lookin’ for a fight
only a fix for the long night

He came for me, all what was left
I am not one who prays
maybe it started as theft
but it didn’t end that way

I remember that I wept
in the few moments that I’ve kept

They found me alone in the alley
lost and afraid of real shadows
they understood I had no family
held me as I shed my deepest sorrow

To seek the red dust of heaven with fistfuls of sky,
to gather impressions and assume lofty position
to imprison the earth
with quavering smile,
to be yoked with untenable chains of solemn regret
and symphonies of sparrow sorrow
in poetic folly,
I bear all unnamed consequences,
walking by signs to the road ahead,
wild wild wilderness,
I.

Big black boots
and a fedora,
low over my eyes.
Black chinos
with black braces
over black t-shirt.
Shuck on the leather jacket,
attach the Raybans
and ready to go.

Can't miss on the eight ball,
can't miss that Miss,
beefcake backs down,
tequila slides down.

This book is its cover.

But of course timeless too,
Sad I know not much,
of poetic skill
But artistic poetry,
I shall compose at
my sweet will .

Rhyme or no rhyme,
It's up to you to enjoy
Or tear my poetry up,
As a child would destroy
An unwanted toy

Maybe like some women do...
Theirs too...