Breathless and still, he stood there
And still fell the rain
That soaked
Saturating every fabric
A darker shade of lonely

Rain
It’s his favorite color
So he stood breathless

All silent save for a lone heartbeat
Pulse in his ears
Like a sunken head in still bathwater

The steady rhythm reminds him
He is still living
And helpless to stop it
Like the rain
His favorite color
Darkening his view
So it can be brighter again

He knows
Fathers will forget when they get to that age
And brothers will always need rough love
When it is hardest to give

With hospital

And phone

And car

And credit card bills

Still in his hand

Getting heavier

And darker

And wetter

He stood in his driveway
Breathless and broken
Buckled at the backbone of forever
Never finding center
But for as long as the weather permit
He was at least happy

I sat with a cat in my lap.
This cat is having a nap.
I wish she'd get off me,
I have to go ***.
This cat in my lap should ****.

This kitty is itty & bitty.
She jumped up to where I was sitting.
She needs to get down,
I'm wearing a frown.
My bladder is making me giddy.

So here I sit like a twit.
My lap must be made of catnip.
My need is so great
But she just won't vacate.
This cat in my lap should get.

it's a fair thing when the air dreams
the windows tell me so
it's time again
to leave what we've got
while thought is deep and white and slow

so hunker down and enjoy the now
with a warm spot in the bed
tonight will pass
and tomorrow will shine
but for now we'll sleep instead

it's a fair thing when the air dreams
the windows tell me so
it's time again
to leave what we've got
while thought is deep and white and slow

so hunker down and enjoy the now
with a warm spot in the bed
tonight will pass
and tomorrow will shine
but for now we'll sleep instead

Be Not Bitter in Thine Writings,
for They Be Most Wondrous Things;
Catacombious Monstrocities,
Though You May'st Conceive Them.
Words Stray'd and Pluck'd into Near-Woven Dressings,
Gone Fade with Thine Temperament—
These Things that You Shrug and Forget!—
Shall ****** Adventures unto the Intrepid,
Kind Caretakers as yet Unknown to These Days.

You were in your forties then, lived upstairs with your
old man, gave the neighborhood someone to feel better
than. I was maybe nine or ten, and Franny, oh! I could
have cried when he blacked your pretty gypsy eye and
Franny, oh! my restored hope when I saw Joe, his lip laid
open; Franny, you could throw a punch. So here's to right
hooks, Franny. Here's to gin before lunch. Here's to street
smarts and cunning hearts. I didn't end up like you. I got
out of the neighborhood. I'm my own woman; that's our
slogan, but you know, Franny, sometimes even that 
makes me feel like I'm swinging my fists in a third floor flat.

The song that keeps me from my sleep
Is rife with lurking shadows, deep.
The voice that hums inside my head
Does well to keep me from my bed.
Unto my soul a curse was laid,
And though I've cried, and laughed, and prayed
My heart does pound, my sweat does pour,
And through the night, I rest no more.
The dreams I see when I'm awake
Would make poor Orpheus' heart break.
The marble smooth, the gentle strands
Do mock and taunt my writhing hands.
True, I could sleep if didn't I see
Two vibrant stars that love to haunt me,
Burning bright, yes burning through
My mind.  The ghosts I see are true.