The splintered echos of a secret
seem barely audible;
but on this night,
though it doesn't seem right,
my pain is now, multiple.

I ache for all you've been through
your secret's safe with me;
without a doubt,
it's finally out,
that alone, should've set you "free".

You're defined by your pure, negativity
coercing rumors to become, true;
you can't feel...and can't grieve,
so, you decided to leave,
like it was the thing to do.

Hew man smile….

A man speaks
on wasteland,
not many listen
to his words.

Though his smile
is well liked,
and the rocks fall
to ground.
Shelter he offers,
they smile.

One person speaks
of wrongdoing,
no monies for shelter.
He smiles.

They like his smile.
He’ll build on
wasteland
and smile…

Leaves playing tag in the cold wind
as they sprint across the ground
while winter nears its chilly end
last blast ere spring comes around

In airish skies cirrus clouds race
foretelling storms now on their way
often dimming the sun's winter face
on this brisk and blustery day

Shoulders hunch and ears grow cold
eyes squint against the swirling dust
lofted by a breeze grown bold
interspersed by howling gusts

Sleepy morning visions
of ducks at play
scrape
yesterday’s misery
away.

Vapid imagines
of day-break dew,
I fathom fantasies
brand new.

Given my way
I'd savor
only
you, me,
and ducks at play.

Another Revision.

We got a kitten, Siamese
my little sister could only grok Chinese
hence his name.

What do I hear, I hear the cars,
what do I see, I see the trees,
while the gulls huddle on the lake`s rectangular blocks of floating ice,
and the weeping willow`s pale green branches sway in the biting wind,
yellow squirrels tracks, seeds, brown leaves,
Cleveland`s grey skyscrapers grey against the grey sky
grey, grey, grey to the horizon
that melds with the distant mist,
silent presence, lake,
vast,
wide world
so small.

This demon’s tongue and its hollow soul,
gravediggers that dig an empty hole.
The angel’s wing and her gentle ways,
dying people and their futile days.

A bloodied face and an impaled eye,
a lover’s spat, both will die.
A baseball bat and a caved in face,
yellow police tape now wraps this place.
A gunshot accompanied with an exploded chest,
this careless cop, wore no vest.

DEGE

If I compare myself
to Bukowski, Burroughs, Poe or Thompson

Take it not as literary self-aggrandizement

Just that in many ways I made them all look like wowsers

and yet will probably live fifty years or more than any of them.

I've contracted a terrible disease.
Where I expected to be immortal,
I now know I have
DEGE
Degenerative Elven Genetic Enhancement

oh woe
alack alas
I won't live forever,
nor my poetry.

But I'll have a fucking great time doing it.

Limbless trees ashore, like spars puncturing slate grey clouds of sail
Racing with monster white capped waves of leaden green

The heaving motion of rain swept deck
Undulates beneath my feet, like a twisting serpent

Smashed against jagged rock, the sea scatters into needle spray
Brine stings the eyes, and crawls the skin

Breath labors heavily
Yet there is exhilaration in the moment

Defying the power of Neptune
I shout out obscenties

Barren land is visible, through my glass
I claim it as my own

People only view you
from far, far away.
You are the richest painting,
the tops of the tallest trees;
to be seen,
but never touched.

Your arms stretch,
and swell, but never seem to strain,
though the clouds swirl
above your golden curls.
The storm above
just bides it's time.

The rains drop heavily,
on your over-burdened shoulders.
You are solid and strong,
but struggling to raise
the gray mass
that would tear you down.