Far away, a splendid thing. Looking at me- Wearing my clothes, mouthing my name. -- A pause, has resurfaced. in my speech- My tongue no longer cares for my dignity. -- Once crowded, a room has emptied. I can hear only- faithless dogs, howling winds.
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Solitary Tears
Misty dew travels the bridge of your nose, and lightfooted so, tiptoes, onto my hands, a solitary tear- disappears.
Trying to get through the day
To the glee of my friends seldom their envy, I lie in my bed, hugging a pillow case. Hardly anything excites me these days, except maybe Trump or whatshisface! My story is not thrilling or inspiring or even finished as a matter of fact, it's just not happening. I'm too oblong to try. Too opaque… Continue reading Trying to get through the day
A heathen poet 