all poems are copyright by me
In the pistachio car, I
swept the papers,
Over my shoulder, I tossed
to a moustache
And slept, ate ours do
wrong? Or too long?
Two don't make a light,
although
General Electric is up six
and five-eighths points,
London gold is down thirty
cents
...Winston
never would admit my shortcomings.
Wish I'd learned to drive
Tossed
Ours
Light.
The
darkness intruding into my light,
Visions of past are
blinding my sight,
Memories long buried.
Someone has found a key to
this tomb,
Rough hands pull me from
the sheltering womb.
A torrent of faces wash
over me,
A whirlwind of places
consume me,
Only focusing on one sigle
thread.
Emptiness begins to
overflow,
I can't help but asking
fate "Why?"
The thread was cut
prematurely,
Backlash of emotions floods
my eyes.
So willfully did he cut
himself free
Could not share his pain,
Emotional, that which he
lived through,
Physical, that agonizing
flash
That sealed him away from
pain,
in my tomb of memories.
Upon this page I seek an
out,
Method of madness, praising
devout,
Harkening back through the
years and pain,
Memory's flood, a darkening
shade.
Eclipse
outpouring, seek to forget,
Thoughts in my head, taking
the threat.
Drain of emotions promise
release
Relief, a mirage, distant
and clear.