Glorious Gloom

late love, with courage,
traced and faded with a foolish eye;
the redemption feels like fog, like frenzy,
like soft muted mornings I can barely long for
..............
I slink too easily like an array of clouds
across Kerouac's tomb, a widow to black.words
that once felt cotton
and kiss
.
love's ordained dream; stately
in its space between two breathing windows,
one open, one wanting to be,
watching for a poet
to write epiphanies in a prism
to add color to the soul of an inanimate creature,
such as myself,
caught in the loom of nothing to speak
of
........
I am lonely
for the innocence of sacred life
.

Supplication

eleventy elevens
and shooting stars
and true cries of the whippoorwill
at the 13th stroke of midnight

all useless fantasies,
old wives tales, if you will;
naught but the vain imaginations
of the hopeless

like asking you...
for anything at all

Cupped Hands

The words
You spill to paper
Flow like water
Off ravaged pages
From cupped hands
I drink your sorrow
Bitter sips of pain
Until
Full to bursting
I break
The volume
Of your despair
Undamns me
I spill over
Tears from my eyes...