Praying for Words

A long and arduous journey…getting to the bottom of words.

those that are remembered

those that I have written down

those jumbled in sleepy positions…only to waken us with cold sweat.

One has to be curious…have my sentences…changed my world?

I pitch a tent, repeatedly, at the godforsaken, blasphemous, bolted door.

But words never take off her shoes…

she never promises to stay.

My words rush out in a horribly, organized, chaotic…state.

Massive…this war on word!

I shove letter upon letter onto an empty, paper plate.

And, my compromised, composition, kneels shoulder to shoulder at the church of lost faith.

My Crowded Mind


cool dampness fills the air…

attended by a lack of dreams…

a lack of care.

misogyny has shut the lights off to a tiny world.

these are the days, no one will want to remember.

lone docks, lone chairs…

baskets of all types…

with their own kind of despair.

have i been, kind today?

have i not judged?

my own private nudge!

a romantic…

minus the semantics.

a lone dock…

a lone chair…

a ticket holder at the bigoted fair.

Pillow Talk

Love…an open door!  It may appear ajar.  Yet, it never completely shuts!

born on a cloudy day 1

My love speaks to me in a tone that only she and I know.

No skirted words…

No ribbons and bows…

Just a voice that leaves me feeling less alone.

I wonder how she understands?

How she knows?

I am slumbering…not quite sleeping…

And, there lies an insecurity of never feeling as, friend or foe.

Thread bare like a worn carpet…

Had been my heart.

Missing pieces to a missing link had been my start.


On a familiar night’s sleep, I thought it only fair to let her know…

Awoken from wondrous sleep…

my love spoke…

“it’s the middle of the night…Come morning we can talk!  Until then, let your demons go!”

Mid-Summer Doubt


middle of the night apathy, empathy…

make shift post traumatic…mental surgery

these gestures grapple my tension…

and, tackle the feet

leading me to question the woman…I had hoped to retrieve

it is the middle of the day…

thoughts…going, gone,

go away

when time is tucked in the fray

sympathy, mockery…feelings of purging and perjury…

dance in ambient light

fallen…mid-stream to the rapid, blur of being on the wayside

the woman I once retrieved


‘why fight?’

so often she is a parody of nature

in the midst of a heatwave…humid doubt creeps in

shaking the heavily salted sweat from my mane

elements needed in forgetting why she…and, I…came


Moderate Ignorance


On the stairway to self-preservation.

An allotment of goods.

A brace, some pills…none with thrills.

All rainbow arrays of impediments.

Difficult to imagine a day not perfumed by my self imposed…handicaps.

With a suitcase of vertigo in hand.

I travel the stairs, everyday, often with dismay.

I daydream about what it is I am attempting to avoid.

But that only depresses me.

Provides an income, where I can become further annoyed.

I can hold to self-doubt and pretend it is not the germ ridden handrail…

that it is.

However, my ignorance may kill.

It also allows me to live.imageedit_110_9303605407