If you ain't good, you ain't interesting

We all wish to die of old age in our sleep,
But what if my slow death began at 22 and ends at 83?
What if the love I was offered in life was deadly?
I know love might show up with a different face, but that just ain’t it for me.
If it’s not yours, it’ll always pretend to be.

Because
it's invisible
it is indestructible -

because
it's metaphorical
it blunts the literal-

because
it's beyond words
it is indescribable -

because
it's boundless
it is immeasurable -

because
it's seamless
it's unstoppable -

because
love is mysterious
poets find it undefinable

"His nostalgic memories glorified them .."
Nostalgia is an enemy dressed as a friend—
An old friend with nothing but love to give,
When all it does is take;
Take our present with nothings of past.
A foe cosplaying amity,
A warm wind hiding its coldness
Until it touches your skin—
Softly like always.
Like it's protecting you while destroying your silently
It hugs you giving away it's warmth
Before strangling you, making you feel like a corpse;
Cold and wrinkled.

I’ve got 61 volumes, with over a thousand files
Some full of crying, some full of smiles
I’ve got volumes of love, volumes of life
There’s a lot about me, a bunch about my wife

I have a few funny ones, you know I’m a cynic
I’ve got rants about the world, everybody’s in it
I go on and on about people, all different kinds
When I post online, we poets share our minds

I’m always writing, since about 1975
It keeps me humble; it keeps me alive
Sometimes my writing is off the top of my head
I’ll be writing poems, at least until I’m dead

I see you sitting on the back porch chair
Under the kitchen window
Where light crept and moved upon your hair  

The air is heavy and I cannot move -
The heavy limbed dream
I see you sitting on the back porch chair

My arms ache under the weight
The hermit thrush beak open is frozen too
Where light crept and moved upon your hair

No morning songs or alarms  for you
And the elm tree roots search the earth
I see you sitting on the back porch chair

And the weight of the air around me
Like an orb weavers web in morning dew
Where light crept and moved upon your hair

And the dragon fly spirals out
Of the heated upwards draft where
I see you sitting on the back porch chair
Where light crept and moved upon your hair