Saturday, October 24, 2015


As this poem is over four and a half years old, I really have no idea of the referent, whether dream or story. It does not refer to anything in my history. I have not lost the love I feel for any of my past or present lovers. I have been beyond fortunate in that regard. All my friends, relatives and lovers have been wonderful. However, I am fully conversant with grief and also with self pity. Whatever.

I try not to do this too often. Like sad music, sad poetry is the easy stuff to compose. It is much harder to compose happy poetry that also stays real.


My heart is torn. Thin
ribbons flutter in the breeze
of your wan distance.
The sun through tattered
mist illumines my stammer
as I try saying
your name one last time.
The dust has eaten the love
that colored our days.

March 6, 2011 8:43 PM

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The chicken crossed the road. That's poultry in motion.

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