God, who can tell me the difference? as if
I even care about the difference, I know because I feel
The difference, I can feel it, life is so real
Because what difference, does it all matter…?  What? What can
Be the reason for a difference, when there can’t be any difference
In me. It is there, I mean, I can see it, smell it,
The Doctors told me it is there, and now I cannot see the difference
In whether or not, I **** well take it, smoke it, drink it,
Hell at the difference!  I will not be any different except happy, except
Sliding down the path of feeling good, even though for a short time,
Even though for anytime, what difference is there anyway, does it, will it all make?

   (an easy feeling of sliding, so downward, so fast, falls on me, falls
   like the head of a pin, looks up and sees me, as it feels so **** good
   with just a glimpse of lakeshore looking backward, over my shoulder
   as I sit here. no television. the sound blaring. and it is off. and the window
   is down, and I am riding. in the car that is not there. better off.  the distance
   looks crowded, and feels so pretty and nice. and life is mine and there are things
   that make me look. this way.  then that. and make it all blow the dust off
   and leave. me here. crying and feeling your arms. while your gone. and feeling
   her arms wrapped around me, and knowing that she will likely *****.
   and moan and gripe, but who cares because now it is gone,.and an extra two
   on top of two. and that makes four, god it makes four. makes four. makes four…)

     *   Who can tell what sleep I have had, nothing no more than a minutes sleep
         Is why my hair looks the way it does, and make-up is not made up and
         The sleepy feeling grabbed me strong and put these jeans upon my body
         And they are mine, they fit, I swear, and the sweater fits too, it is not his it is mine
         Besides, I feel like hell and death have run together and have clouded me,
        And taken away my judgment, and left me here alone, can you see me?
      I know it, I know it, it makes sense as dogs make sense to lying in the grass
    And birds make sense playing in the limbs, and as I make sense, making sense
   Of the feelings that are lost to me now, and please, please, please, I do not
   Need the sitter, or someone watching me, or watching me die, please
  I just need something, a little thing, a little more, just a little more.

Lost in plain sight,
He felt the weight of the world
Upon his shoulders there,
The weight of untold fate
And of knowing barely enough to survive,
Of making his way so carefully
Of marching slowly in time with the beat,
It was there, but it was gone,
It seemed real, it seemed like vapor,
It was everything he had hoped it would be
But now it was lost, lost in plain sight
To where he could not see.

The castle walls are feeling thick and formidable,
This window seems blank, as night begins to fall,
And the fires of those outside burns in the still darkness,
The moth, flies, flutters by, inside then out,
As it feels a piece of the moment, fading away,
Knowing that in its reclusive movement, it will find its way
Awash, with knowing  much, trying to find its way back,
Outside, to the fresh air, where stagnation hasn't set
Where the feeling is still fresh, where the night moves.

My kids are gone from home and friends
have left as well. It is all
too big. I'm forced
to start in a little patch.
If I had my way...
But each life needs love
it cannot use.
Yes, it is me.
It's the invisible me who won't forget
and who, you hold, without touching.

If I could I would take you
under the limbs of trees
and tell you. I would take
your hands in both of mine,
below the sticks and hills
where moss clings
to the curve of rocks. Part of us
would not fail. As light
moves through the sun through water. Though water
is carefree. Waves crash. From those,
the last drop of misty morning, contains
enough life to populate a world. The world
shivers – listen to it. Your voice
is a stream spilling into the sea, or nighttime
rushing into a black-lit sky. Like coming home alone,
the house is cold. Who is there but someone, you once knew
and were not expecting
but were hoping to see again. And you can have wine
and cake left from the party.
In the most unexpected places,
you wait. Within a few years
we won't remember the pact: to confess
nothing, not to lean
over the edge of formation.

I woke this morning, a little after five;
Thinking and wondering and worrying
And wanting you to be alive
And well, and seeing the new breeze
On the the air, as it brings thoughts
Of forgiveness, and keeping the heart straight,
With feelings that seem old-in-days, and young
In spirit, calm in giving, yet firm in forever.
Your heart is big, my eyes weak with need for sleep,
All the while, wanting so desperately, the best
For you.

The weather seemed better from the day before
While the sun was backed by low clouds,
And the wind was getting a brisk touch,
The cold on the fringe, the snap of a finger,
The feeling could all be turned round,
The snow, piling the roadways
Feeling it not far from here,
With November upon us (November can you believe?)
And Christmas, that 'time of the year'
Each date, each principal, each feeling of time
Passes quick and full and blows by like the breeze
With a smile for the things you can do,
A happy feeling for the things you will do
A snag, but a feeling of 'I tried' with the things you cannot do,
All this, all these, all of it wells inside you and feels
Like the rush of the wind on a blustery day
With a feeling that somewhere, home, you know it's there
One can feel, your words, your skin, your heart
And can feel it with a smile,
Can feel it with a warmth, and a protective arm
Can wrap around you, and in the silence,
You know, it is there.