WHAT INDEED

What could make me leave you?
Not any of the things man
Can put his hands upon
And offer me on velvet pillows.
Not golden promises, silver daydreams,
Midnight colored fear or threat
No shining bauble visible through time shall
Lure me from your side

What could make me leave you?
Not any deed to which your hand may turn
Or dagger word that at me may be hurled
By those who look through clouded windows.
Not lack of bread or silky comfort
Nor the stale perfume of age or illness.
No dark moment in the hour that is life shall
Drive me from your side.

What could ever make me leave you?
Only knowing I am not a help to you.
Only realizing that I keep you from attaining
That which guarantees the destiny
Now shining in your eyes.
Only if I felt my weight too much
For you to carry on your way
Then would I, so sadly, leave you.
                 Ls

What is “stuff” you ask?  What on earth does it mean?
It’s easy to know, but hard to explain.
It’s one of those words with a dozen “faces”
That can be used in so many different places.

When you pull out that one kitchen drawer
And it’s full of everything from a key ring to a flashlight,
To a package of gum, a pencil and a screwdriver,
That drawer is full of miscellaneous “stuff.”  

When you go to the store and then to the bank
Next to the florist and then to the barber and
Anywhere else you might have on your list,
You are out and about, and just doing “stuff”.

When your shoes are by the VCR and your shirt’s
Across the chair, while your jacket’s on the
Sofa, and your clothes are everywhere
Your mother or your room mate may have a word to say
Like “Would you gather up those things and put your “stuff” away.

“Stuff and nonsense” is an old time saying often
Interjected when a speaker runs amok
With nonsense on a foolish theme or topic.
Stuff in this case scolds the speaker
For deluging you with verbal *******.

When someone is showing off and doing it quite well
The skills he shows are called that word
That’s why they say he “struts his stuff.”
Someone with  lot of learning about a special thing
Is told by his admirers that he “really knows his stuff.”

This is the stuff of arguments, I think you might agree.
I hope you learned a little, because it all came for free.
ljm

Ebony birds with damaged wings
Fling themselves
Towards the darkened clouds
And find no draft to lift them.
Screeching in despairing cries
They slowly circle back to earth.

Second verse of same sad song
Echoes and reminders catch the light.
Unexpected findings ring the bell
That calls to life the waterfall.
Help is proffered by empty hands
To heartstrings that no longer tug.

And the clock goes round and round
And the Sun goes up and down
And the Moon grows somehow dim
On a path that only circles back
Into a room that has no door.
I’m home again, it seems.
ljm

Our road has not been straight, my love.
It has not been an easy journey.
Our path was filled with barriers
And led through lands of many dangers.

Sometimes our shoes grew worn and thin
From trudging through the obstacles
And it would have been much easier
To stumble to our knees and fall.

But one of us was always strong
When the other’s strength diminished
Though there were times we could have quit
We clambered up and moved along.

We now float calmly in still waters
Knowing that our craft is strong
As we at last enjoy the sunsets
And listen to the nightbird’s song.
  ljm

A shiny stone washed up onto a beach
So easy to discover and enjoy.
A crystal hewn from deepest mine
So valuable but hard to win.
I think I’ll choose the sea-washed stone
And leave the digging to the miners.
                ljm

Small surprises
Little disappointments
Tiny Malfunctions
Minuscule disasters
Rust along the edges
Multiple reasons why
The answer is a no.
                         LJM

Time
A crooked line
Connecting then and now
Never quite achieving the connection
That would build a bridge
To somewhere over there
And make a path
To what could be a better sometime.
           ljm

BLACKBERRIES

When the woods were green
And the air was clear
And the sky was mottled
With fluffy clouds,

When the river was high
And the water was clean
And fish hid in the shadow
Of submerged rocks,

When the cars were small
And the traffic slow
And wild blackberries
Grew by the roadside,

You were my love
And I was yours
And everything
Was shining bright

The scenes have changed
And so have we, but
love has never faltered
And every day still shines as bright
As when we picked blackberries.
         ljm

I think that I will take the time
To come up with a thrilling rhyme

If you could see me yesterday
You’d  know I’m not the same today

If I could win a golden prize
You’d see it shining in my eyes

The seaside is my spirit’s place
To step outside the rodent race.

I have a tale I want to tell
but rhyming will not do it well

te-dah te-dah te-dah te-dah
Pentameter’s unfailing law

Restricting laws I can’t abide
So I’ll set rhyming verse aside.
                               ljm

They did it
A bunch of shriveled up old men
With shrunken *****
And withered hearts
Have proved to America
That it’s more important

To populate the world
With unwanted, unloved
Uncared for children
Who will be a burden
To society and the
Criminal justice system,

That their law is more important
Than to give a second chance
To a teenaged girl who
succumbed to the urging
Of her boyfriend for
fear of losing him.

That their law is more important
Than to give a mother
Of four, who’s IUD failed
A chance to raise those four
Without the need of welfare
And free school lunches.

That their law is more important
Than to give some solace
To the girl knocked up by her father
Or the woman brutally *****
As she walked home from church.

This ruling marks you all as thugs
Pompous, righteous hypocrites
Who all suppose that you can
Force your will on women by a law
That violates each tenet of the right
Of women to pursue happiness.
ljm

Pompous men with secret aims
Gather in the shadows
Hoping to create some sort
Of Panacea for the masses.

One that won’t serve to curtail
Their journey on the gravy train
That stops in oh-so-many-places
To take on endless loads of moolah

All too often soaked in blood
From someone else’s children.
Trying hard to find a salve
For wounds that never heal.

Hoping to placate the mass
That thunders at the door
For just a hint of common sense
And a tiny touch of honor.

The recipe is hard to find
There’s always re-election
Pointing up the need
That overshadows all concerns.

So generate some platitudes
Write rules to be ignored.
Write laws that will not be enforced
Then pat each other on the back
And head back to the shadows.
              ljm

Lost - reality in multicolor shatters
Scattered by the breezes from the sunrise
Gaping holes with ragged edges
Filled with swirling mists of sadness

Perusing maps of certainty
The tick-tock of the day grows louder
But the tide washed out the roadway
And the darkness didn’t leave at dawn

There is no clay for making bricks
So nothing will get built today
And the penny found along the walk
Will only buy a feckless dream

A can of worms not good for fishing
Sits atop a dusty shelf above
A dog that wants more petting
Than you or I have hands to give

The echo of this joylessness is deafening
And there’s no reason to go on.
      ljm

Gnarled words from crippled fingers
Inch their way across a crumpled page
Never sketching anything that’s real.

The burden of the thinning air
Makes casting sighs more difficult
And the wounded heart beats faster.

Yearning turns the morning purple
And the ache consumes the sunrise
While the symphony packs up and goes.

Letters from the alphabet form up
In arcane ways that somehow never
Say the thing that crowds all else out of the room.

Eyes that drip with longing blur
And try to focus on what’s left behind
When that tiny drop of blood is gone.
         ljm

I wonder what she’s doing today
In her life that I have no part of.
Does she ever wonder what I do all day
Or how often I may think of her.

Does she go about her day
An orphan by her careful choice,
Getting what she needs from friends
And free from my side’s family tree.

Does she meet the mothers of her friends
Comparing them to me
In the distorted image I hold in her mind
That paints me as some toxic monster.

She says I chose this husband over her -
I thought that I could have them both.
It seemed that way at the beginning
A little anger and then peace.

But then a shrink came on the scene
And everything unraveled.
Her every ill became big issues
And I was made the villain.

She said she’s getting married
I’ve never  met the  man
I know I’m not invited
And she has not told me when.

Her day of celebration
Will be my day of tears.
Another piece of heartbreak
To last me through the years.
ljm

The Lilac trees were bushes then
In the front yard of where I grew up.
Their perfume filled the small front room
Of the tiny little house we lived in.

Across the yard were Holly trees
One for each of us three kids
Who loved to push each other
Laughing, onto their sharp leaves.

Three Lilacs and three Holly trees
All planted by my mother
And all of them were tiny shrubs
Just like her little children.

The kids and bushes grew in sync
As days and years meandered by
Until the kids were grown and gone
And left the bushes growing there

To mark the passing of the days
That added up to childhoods filled
With  perfume in the afternoons
And sometimes thorns into the fingers.
ljm

In trepidation pain and angst
With three hitch-hikers on my back
All making progress difficult
And pushing writing off the track

With orders firmly in my mind
I pick up pen and go to work
I scribble letters on a page
Exactly like some office clerk.

I’ve monumental things to say
But they must only be in rhyme
That’s not my style....so i’ll just say
It will not happen at this time

So I will be the lesson dunce
Atop a stool in pointed cap
Because I couldn’t rhyme this once
And only turned in total crap
ljm

I’ll never be a track star
Because I cannot run
That doesn’t really matter
Because I have a gun.

I’ll never win a medal
For something I’ve achieved
But I’ll be long remembered
By everyone I’ve grieved.

I’m always sad and angry
My life has not been fun.
But I know how to fix it
With my brand-new shiny gun.

A bully said my *****
Appears to be too small
It’s bigger than the trigger
That will blow away them all

I’m longing to be famous
But my triumphs total none
I’ll aim for bigger numbers
When I unleash my gun

An AK forty-seven
Is the answer to my needs
And I’ll become a headline
Because of my next deeds.

I’m heading for the school now
Where I’m gonna awe and stun
Gonna mow down all the children
With my brand new shiny gun.
ljm

Seranaea told me I should
Write the skeleton of a poem
And wrap a scarf around it’s neck
And hang ornaments about it’s ribcage

If only I could do that
I’d plant Hollyhocks around it’s feet
And sprinkle glitter over all
And fire up background music.

But I am store-brand verse and prose
Arriving in a plain brown wrapper.
I’d be a good reporter, so they say
But what would that vocation do
To the kaleidoscope that is my soul.
ljm

Waves of deep pure shimmer in the background.
A muffled roar of anger rumbles in the distance.
The white gardenia in a clear glass bowl
Doesn’t smell as sweet as memory recalls.
All the wight of merely being is a burden.
The cuckoo clock is running slow
And needs to have its chain pulled down.
The shutters on the windows are all closed
And the walls are painted in a cheerless hue.
The tablecloth is cluttered up with  nothings
That demand attention but give no reward.
The painting in the attic slowly ages
While the face seen in the mirror stays the same.
The creaking hinges of existence
Slowly start to close the door
And all the butterflies are left outside.
kjm

My bags are packed
I’m ready to go
I’m leavin’ you now
But you should know

My pen has ink
And it will flow
Soon I’ll return
With a happy glow

It’s only for
A 2-week trip
Then I’ll come back
With newfound zip.
ljm

The Good son died, a victim of fate.
The Other cashed in and created a state
That cost their father who loved them dearly
Everything….or just about nearly.
ljm

Gentle susurration of the gathered
Moving aimlessly in patterns of fantastic
Symmetry that no one planned.
Music in the silence between breaths
That energizes inner computations
Of the reasons for assembling.

Unexpected rustling of wings
Fantasizes outlines in the air
Creating something very like a blackboard
Waiting for explosions to appear.
Whereby the peacock fans its tail
And turns it to the flock of doves.

Voicing cries of strident self esteem,
The proud bird struts and preens
Which terrifies the doves who turn away
And skittle into corners
With their feathers all tucked in,
Forming cautious circles in the maelstrom.
ljm

Springtime rain pays no attention
To everything that might get wet.
Yes, it stresses comprehension.
Springtime rain pays no attention
Rain creates a new dimension
And gets most everyone upset.
Springtime rain pays no attention
To everything that might get wet.
ljm

Hollow days and painful nights
In the itching sweat of illness.
Photos of another life
In sunlit fields of memory
Are glued to scrapbook pages
And the book locked in the cupboard.
Broken teacup on the floor
Dropped or thrown - who knows.
The Ferris Wheel no longer turns
And the Hurdy Gurdy has gone silent.
Effort does not pay the rent
That ratchets ever upward.
Blood and tears are valueless
And the race is almost over.
         ljm

I’ve learned to live without you
More and more each day.
I try to put a poem up
But get a Bad Gateway.

When at last I get on site
My write goes straight to ‘draft’.
Trying to get it on my page
Takes every ounce of craft.

Is it even worth my time
When everything’s a struggle.
When I can’t post the words I pen
I feel just like a Muggle.

Other places on the net
Will post the things I write
So I just may go over there
And tell Hello, Goodnight.
       ljm

I don’t think anyone will miss me
The one who should cry the most
Will feel relieved of burdensome love
That came from genetics and little else.

The other one will follow soon
Unable to survive the grief
And find a way to carry one
Without the recipes for life.

Who will remember New Years day
To send a Birthday greeting skyward
Or will it be overlooked again
Lost in last nights partying.

Who will touch the things I loved
And wonder who once owned them,
Purchased at a reduced rate
From One-800 merchants

Who will trim the weeds that grow
Across the stone I helped design.
The power mowers of Valhalla
Will caress me once a week.

My words will be stacked in a closet
Or perhaps into a bin.
No one will ever see or read them
Only God will know their lines.

My candle’s flame will flicker once
And with the sundown disappear.
ljm

If only I could just forget
The woman I once was
Maybe I’d be happy with
The woman I am now.

If maybe I could just forget
How much I could do then
Perhaps I could accept how
Much of it I can’t do now.
ljm

There is nothing
All the jars and cans
Sit empty on the shelves.
There is no hope for more.
The roads to everywhere are closed.
And Greyhound doesn’t stop here any more.

Everything is nebulous.
The equipment is all broken down
And rusting outside in the rain.
We ordered from a catalog
But never got a shipment back,
And our check was never cashed.

There is nothing in the pipeline.
The doorbell doesn’t seem to work.
The screen door has a hole in it,
Patched with pages
Ripped from next week’s calendar,
And the phone declines to ring.

Everything is over now,
The happy times
Are past and gone.
All that’s left to us is weeping
And the Kleenex box is empty,
So the tears make puddles on the floor.

All we see through tear filled eyes:
Another day in paradise.
            ljm

On a front-row-center throne
The Would-be King relaxes.
             Besides him rests his Lady-Queen
             In tsunamis of green satin.

He’s enjoying all the accolades
In the Hallowed Halls of drama
Surrounding their appearance,
                         Where the monkey trio entertains
    And fashion marches to and fro
    Clutching heavy bits of tinsel.

All is merriment and joy
Until the Jester makes a jape
   That earns a queenly frown
   Which stirs the King to wipe his smile
And stalk onto the dais
         Where he
                         slaps
   the Jester on his cheek,
  And wearing traces of a smirk
Marches back down to his throne.

The Jester lofts a lame response
Into a sea of stunning silence
      Then the air turns shades of Royal blue
                              And American TVs go deaf
                                               For thirty-seven                                                 ­                                     seconds
While across the seas the
  Audience enjoys the
    Braying of a *******.

Believing he’s impervious
Or maybe he is Sampson
         The King pulls down the ancient walls
                   Of cherished film tradition
Reducing what was dignified
           To a rank back alley rumble
Then later makes a fake obeisance
Awash with phony tears and snot.

                   All hail the King of Hollywood
   They should take back his golden prize
        To penalize his hubris -
                And let him know rules still apply.
And cause some real tears in his eyes.
           ljm

I’m so tired I could drop
But I mustn’t go to sleep.
Vicious dreams are hiding
Just behind my pillowcase,
Waiting for the perfect time
To tell me I’m inadequate
And guilty of egregious sins
That doom my frantic efforts
To create a perfect life
And move across humanity
In ways that make things better.
ljm

TRADE IN

I hate all this business
Of trying to do
What I want to do
And hampered by a
Creaky old body.

It ****** me off
When something hurts
And gets in the way
Of doing the things
I had carefully planned.

I want to complain
And go pound on God’s desk
And ask him for a refund
Or at the very least
Refurbishment.

I haven’t got time
To fall down in pain,
I’ve got hills to climb
And rivers to swim.
I can’t do that if I am crippled.

So dig out the warranty
Read the fine print
See how to get
Some replacements
So I can continue
To conquer this world

As the force of nature
That my Mama loosed            
On creation that
New Year’s day
Eighty-three long years ago.
     ljm

The tide goes out, and comes a little further in.
The tiny waves don’t make it past
The pebbles in the sand.
They just sink in and disappear.

The rubber ball mistakenly
Tossed out into the churning sea
Recedes and then it reappears
Always just a little out of reach.

Teasingly it comes and goes.
Soon it becomes invisible
Amidst the foaming of the brine.
And likely is forever gone

Unless it manages to journey
To that far and distant shore
Where little hands will gladly grasp it
And the end turns into a beginning.
             ljm

Am I the only one who:

1.  Finds every write I post sent to drafts first, and requiring my           wrangling it back out onto my page in order to be seen.

2.  Encounters error 502 not only on trying to post, but on switching    from home screen to messages.

3.  Never sees  half of the comments posted without going back to    look up the write in my index and bringing it up again.  I'm thanking  people for nice things they said over a week ago.  That's not right.

4.  Who has no way to get to anyone else's page unless I see their        
name in a comment they made somewhere else, so I can click on it    and go to their page.  What happened to the index/directory we
once had.

5.  Finds my carefully arranged layout changed when posted, thus
requiring complicated editing to get it back the way I want it.

6.  Felt it necessary to stop my monthly donation to HP because of the way the site has declined, and the refusal of Eliot York to respond
to anyone's e-mails - ever.

Am I to die with you still hating me
For something I never knew I did?
Has nothing I have done for you
In these last thirty-five heartbroken years
Earned me a tiny bit of your forgiveness?

I am old and sick and growing weak,
And life’s a struggle every day.
Your anger is a load almost too
Heavy for me to carry now,
But I can’t put it down because

My love for you has never wavered
And I nurture a small flame of hope
That some day you will realize
That I did the very best I could
With what I knew of parenting.

That I tried with all my heart to be
The television mom you longed for
And to master all the rules attached
That were impossible because
I couldn’t get past being who I am.

I so regret my imperfections
And the moments when I failed.
I’d give the last years of my life
To have a chance to try again
And maybe get it right this time.
          ljm

I’ve always had this fantasy
That if you die and go to Heaven
You’re not aware of earthly things
But if somebody left below
Should think of you, a bell rings.

A bell that only you can hear
With such lovely tinkling sound
A bell that tells you someone cared
That someone’s thinking of your smile,
Remembering the times you’ve shared.

Other Angels all around
Are doing what the angels do
Then one will stop and tilt her head
And you know that she’s hearing things
And smiling with the joy it brings.
ljm

Harlan never ever died.  
His words still burn like ******,
Scalding minds that revel in their rut.

He saw behind the curtain long before
The Tin Man or the scarecrow did
And he shouted out the travesties
That everyone refused to see.

His acid pen made pages boil
And much of it splashed over him
Creating scars that in my gentle fingers
I could never heal.

He created mountains where none were
And scaled them to the accolades
He made it known that he deserved.

I rode the wind with him for just a while
Though he offered me forever
It seemed too shiny for my eyes
And I blinked and turned aside
To stand and watch his comet soar.

He one day met a flameproof soul
And lept into the multiverse
With sound and fury as his steed
And her his tether to civility.

I  loved to share his meteor
As it began it’s wild ascent
I thrilled to watch it blaze the years
And see him tear the strictures down.
And even as his comet died
It took a bit of me along
To the place World-beaters go
When it is time to take a rest.
                               LJM

Feral winds blow through my mind
Creating mists I can’t see through
The road leaps up to trip my feet.
And when I stumble, all the pieces
That are me, get shaken up
And settle in a different way.

Flailing arms at foes I cannot see
I battle memes that have no name
And promise to report me to the boss
Who somehow didn’t turn out to be me,
And I am left to put my time card in the slot
Which sets the bells of checkmate ringing loudly.

Promises that were not made
Are broken in the headlong rush
To be the first one up the steps to no-place
Where the doorknobs all are putty
And the Sandwich man says
Have one more.  And this one isn’t poison.

The calendar has learned to dance
And practices a fox trot as
The pages dip, then glide away
And soon it is the next decade,
But I don’t have the taxi fare
And guess I’ll never get there.

I think I’ll never see one hundred.
That’s my fondest wish from childhood
But it reads backwards in the mirror
And the wind keeps blowing shut the door.
I saved my pennies for the ticket
But I’ll never get to see the movie.

Here I am with ball and jacks
And no one knows what they are for
I probably should pick them up
But that would mean I’m going home.
The streetlights haven’t come on yet
So I can stay and play some more.
           ljm

The drums of war pound once again
While war hawks screech high overhead
In a very crowded sky.
Goliath Rolls it’s heavy tread
Over David’s hapless sling
And doesn’t leave a spatter on the soil.

The Evil One puffs up in pride -
Him of the sly and snake-like eyes -
He didn’t break the Olympic Truce -
A tiny sop to salve the hatred
Roiling in frustration and despair
At lack of the ability to stop him.

The watchers huddle breathlessly
With wringing hands and hopeless eyes
Threatening to take away allowance
If one more tank should rumble over
The chalk mark on the wounded landscape
That denotes the aspiration to be free.

The great unwashed pray to Dow Jones
And check the prices at the gas pump.
Worried that the Safeway may run short
Of toilet paper, beans and Spam
And merchants will hike prices higher
And how will this affect our road trip.

Hoping that the promise holds
Of no boots on that foreign soil
We take our children to the airport
Sending them to Germany  for
Seats along the 50-tank Line
Praying that the game gets called.

People who report the news
All turn the volume up or down:
“It’s just a little foreign scuffle”
Or “Oh my God - it’s World War Three”
Neither of them are on the mark
And we must sort it for ourselves.

And all the while their windows shatter
While rockets flare across their sky
And children who can’t go to school
Must take their naps in subway tunnels,
Cradled by their fearful mothers
While their fathers shoulder guns.

The Great Bear of the East is Hungry
And Ukraine smells like frying pork chops.
ljm

My how the staid and tradition-bound
House of Windsor has changed
When an avowed harlot is to be crowned Queen Consort
To rule beside a ****** co-conspirator on the Royal Throne.
Princess Diana must be spinning in her grave.
Not to mention Princess Margaret.
                              ljm

Only 15 and branded a cheater,
How did she know what they told her to take -
She did what they told her and practiced her axels.
The ice was a carpet embedded with magic
And she rode it into the stratosphere;
Graceful, athletic, and lovely to look at
How could she know that a little round pill,
From the multitude that were her daily fare
Could puncture her dream as sure as a saber,
Sending her crashing to that icy carpet.

Only 15 to hoist such a burden
And wear it forever like sack cloth and ashes
Doomed by the powers that only love metal
And mining it on the back of a school girl
Pushing for her to spin ever higher,
And land on the legend-filled pages of glory.
They set her up to bring home the trophy,
But had to take steps to make sure she’d succeed.
In the end what they did was discovered
Which only succeeded in breaking her wings
But they sent her out wrapped in scandal and shame
And tore her to pieces when she couldn’t fly.
          ljm

Brace yourself for a juggernaut, for I’ve a tale to tell.
I’m not out to bamboozle you, for that might send me to Hell.
I’d love for someone to collaborate on this lugubrious tome,
But I’d need to check your bonafides to let you in my pome.
I must admonish all readers to jettison schadenfreude
And accept my obsequious garble as a meaningful factoid
I’m careering about in my Websters, like a disheveled maniac
But I am fastidious in my yen to to give something useful back.
You may think my view is myopic, as I meander to and fro,
But my outlook is homogenous, as you already know.
This write may be intemperate, but I’m not a reprobate,
It’s actually a billet doux that’s a day or two too late.

The love of words is in my soul and swimming in my mind.
I kept a log of every challenge word that I could find
I tried to use them in a way that didn’t change their meaning
Even though that goes against the humor in my leaning.
I owe a lot to BLT for setting up this game we play
And hope I’ve written up enough to get me through this day
ljm

Waiting while the white ball spins
Hurry - I’ve got other stuff to do.
So many corrections yet to make.
Why didn’t I type more carefully
Rushing through some new ideas
Throwing words out like confetti
Only to be scattered by the wind
That never seems to take a break.

Watching while the ball still spins
Pounding mental fists on walls
That make the labor twice as hard
As Bragi promised it would be.
Breaking up what’s newly writ
And stomping on the pieces
That turn sharp and cut my metric feet
Which then bleed through my stockings.

The ball will never end its spins.
The buffering goes on and on.
I might as well go dig a grave
And bury all the honeyed words
And clever phrases I created,
Fighting iMac all the way.
Their use-by date was yesterday
And there’s no hope to salvage them.
The buffering has done me in.
ljm

Being mocked by empty tablet paper
Whose blue lines lead relentlessly to nowhere,
I wonder where the hollyhocks are blooming
And why there are none blooming in my mind.

Surrounded by the raucous crows of failure
I long to hear the song of nightingales.
Instead I’m treated to the sound of weeping
And the ripping of the veil of prosody.
               ljm

None of this will really matter
Building castles on the tide line
Lacing up the running shoes
Going through the motions of a life
Knowing it won’t mean a thing
In the final tally of the universe

Scratching marks on paper
Too stiff for use as **** wipes
And unwanted in any other place
Killing trees in order to not die alone
Wrapped in grief and
Sitting 3 feet from despair

The reach is just a bit too short
To push the final button.
       ljm