I get drunk to not think about you,
yet you slip through the cracks,
every night you dance in my thoughts,
just to fade when I open my eyes;

I hold onto the scars that remain
because that's all I can bear to
keep after we were over;
I kept the wounds open just to hurt

Sometimes I touch my heart
where you rested your head
& I cry alone at night when
you aren't here laying down

It doesn't really matter, though,
staying stuck in the past hurts;
looking to the future without you,
that is truly what doesn't matter

~for lovejunkie, who loved this poem best~

so many reasons,
so many stones
yet unturned,
for each poem
a season,
for every season,
a given reason

eyes, dimmer,
hearing, harder,
memories, ha,
disappear as fast as
footsteps upon
my island beach

this then
my log,
of places momentarily visited,
capturing the of,
of me,
the exactitude of
where, when and what
I felt

what felled me,
the long and lat,
of the attitudes
of breeze and currents,
the happenstance that carries
a desperate soul
eager and afraid
to remember

"how fragile we are"

so memorized records here,
for his storage and his places,
both filled and unfulfilled,

poems, nothing more,
flawed each,
product of a flawed man,
here, for all to see,
most of all,
for the man,
to see himself
when the eyes of his mind
at last be shuttered

If Love is a disease
then I'm very sick
but incredibly happy....