Life ain't so funny when you ain't got
   that honey feeling deep inside
You had it once when you were very
    young (when you were little)
When you were close to the Source
Close to your god and your Mom
That lovely sweet ambrosia feeling
It used waft through your being
Its various colours lighting you up
   inside
Like a veritable Christmas tree
Made you feel real special, made you
   feel so alive
Made you feel that Life was
   something amazing
An incredible ride.

But that was then, and this... this is
   now
Seems almost like a lifetime ago
Like some myth or legend
Lost way in the mists of Time,
Been so long since I had that feeling,
You begin to wonder was there ever
   such a place
Did it ever really exist at all.

The World it offers you sweets and
   chocolate
Their nice but they don't last, their
   over too fast
And they only remind you of what
   you've lost
(And yea, you can eat that sugar but
   it'll only **** you brother
It ain't the same and it ain't what
   you're looking for).

Inside there's just this great big hole
That you try and fill with anything
Eating too much, drinking too much
(You don't know when to stop, and
   even then, it's never enough)
Working as well... too much! staring,
Staring at the TV (the almighty TV),
And pretending...yea, pretending your
   whole
If only they knew these smiles of
   mine, their not true
And these words, their all hollow too,
There's nothing here in me, I... I'm
   empty.

Each day is just another desert to
   cross,
Another desert to roam
Lying sprawled out on the sofa in
   front of the TV, stupified and
       zombified
You think to yourself, "there was a sweetness once, wherever did it go".

In deep silence
my words float in your eyes,
past twilight.

I will stay in parlor
to watch a lazy moon.
A tarantula starts moving.

An ancient prayer
leaves the footprints on
the skin of dead song.

Let it be stolen
my peace, in the name of
a bitter fight with stars.

The spirit of thumb
to meet forefinger would
remain eternal.

Every time she
kicks me out,
she throws my stuff
away:
my clothes
my books
my poetry.
I'm broke like
a toad.
I can't afford it.
No bother--she just
throws it all away.
No apologies.
I come back, and
ask, "Where's my stuff?"
Away...
Far away.

There is a bluff
overlooking
the shipwreck
of love, steeped
in dreams best
kept in sleep’s
fog, shattered
and abandoned
on the rocky
hard shallow
depths below.

Chain smoking sadness, slapped by time.
Winter doesn't freeze the pain.
There was one thing that
Mom wanted more than
anything else in the world:
It was to have a
picture of her
seven kids all together,
in one place,
at one time.
There was an age
difference of
23 years between the
youngest to the oldest,
and 1000 miles separating us.

In December of 1987
two weeks before Christmas,
I held a picture of
the seven of us all together.
I put it in the
right front pocket of
her navy blue blazer.
After the funeral,
we buried her with it.

The home is under
           the leafy tree.
The graveyard too
         is not far to see!