I feel like I'm being suffocated by thousands of pounds
of sand,

and all I have to combat it is this
teaspoon.

flick--

flick-
flick


gently flickingg it away,

as I'm eventually consumed by it.


at least I tried,

at least I made a show of

'BRAVERY',

and that's sometime's all
we can do

I;ve bought so much junk on EBAY lately and it's ridiculous and pretty much an addiction at this point.

just books I occasionally flip thru,
and exercise equipment I keep in the corner,

and shirts I toss away when I get embarrassed by the design,

and shoes I find to be too adolescent,

and hats that don't fit right,

and knives I keep folded up in a box,

and posters that
are crumpled and uglier than their represented pictures,


and tables built of recycled match sticks,

and brides that won't stop complaining,

and illegals who just run away after I open the container.

it's an addiction indeed, but I've

run out of money
so I'm cured

Do you know what I was, how I lived?  You know
what despair is; then
winter should have meaning for you.

I did not expect to survive,
earth suppressing me. I didn't expect
to waken again, to feel
in damp earth my body
able to respond again, remembering
after so long how to open again
in the cold light
of earliest spring--

afraid, yes, but among you again
crying yes risk joy

in the raw wind of the new world.

String pickers,
violinists
Poets
Bad Boys
The lot of you
We fall in Love
with you
a thousand times a day
We listen to your songs
poems
Voices,
over and over
Common thread in crystals
cloud bursts of feeling
that you each sharpen
daily
You
Bad Boys Of Poetry
You
cut we
black butterflies
and
dark diamond
poetesses
daily,
hourly
We butterfly bats
dance,
sing
write!
Yet,
you
Bad Boys Of Poetry
Still
Lie, there in
to your ownselves,
and say
"No one loves me,
I'm alone
Forgotten"
Well,
No.
We each see
as we wish
Pluck your strings!
Sing your songs!
But know,
you're LOVED
A thousand times a day
By black butterflies
and dark diamonds

Poetesses
~only a poetess
A