The poet's manuscripts
are preserved for posterity
with odd bits of his personal things
historical than literary
immortalized with passage of time
as his timeless work
perfumed in air conditioned staleness
letters sent and received
the mortal mind sending poems
desiring to be published
and outside on a falling winter day
in a dog's head
the crumbling desire
for a crumb of bread.

I painted my dream on my wall
and everytime I open my eyes,  
I see a star not that far away...

Imagine
Just imagine
If snowman could
Think and express themselves
What would they say?
I imagine, they would talk
About creation and evolution
It would go like these:
- Do not say B.S.,
There is no creator! By chance, evolutionary  
We become like these from snowflake!

These eyes, no longer my own
My heart changed its beat
A snake has a hold of my stomach
My body admits defeat

It's merely following suit
After all, the body trails the mind
Rage overtook that system
When my father decided to resign

You might think a job
I guess you would be right
Twenty-five years of marriage
Forsaken overnight

Now if you are uncertain
This was not foreseen
He was fairly content a man
Although a bit extreme

He had all he wanted
That was insufficient
So he went quietly searching
And one lie became malignant

As I reimagine the events
Not by choice or reason
I can't un-hear my mother
Her sobs weak, uneven

I struggle to relinquish
The semblance I have left
Of the life I knew just days ago
Before this unthinkable theft