I wonder many things
When I am left to my thoughts
The words in my mind
A never-ending book of sorts.

But there is one question
That burns through all I know
A fire drowning out the noise
A clutching hand that will never let go.

When will my time come?
Is it a day, a week, a year?
When will my life be gone and done?
I will always wonder when my end is near.

Who will remember my name?
Who will bury me in that grave?
What songs will they sing?
What church bells will they ring?
And would life still be the same?

It is fear that I feel
When I am left alone.
Fear that pushes my to look at my phone,
Checking for messages
That may be a goodbye.
Checking for messages
Before I have the chance..to die.

I wonder many things
When I am left to my thoughts.

But it is that image
Of a coffin and a grave
With me stuck inside
Of the boulder closing shut the cave.

And most painful of all,
Sat watching the fire start to fall,
My dear family and friends,
Waving to the life that fades
In the golden glow that the setting sun sends..

What do you do when the world is upon you?
When you are assaulted on all fronts.
How do you react?
Why does this happen to me?, you ask.
Who, if anyone, will help me?
Then, there's nobody.
It seems to happen just because.
Tears and Loneliness just come with the territory
It happens time and time again.
I sit and I wish I could cry.

“leave ‘em laughing when you go”^




it appears that Ogden Poet and Joni Songster
have ganged up
on poor Pitch Black
to remind
that he who laughs best,
is he who laugh hardest
at himself,
and their vanity fair

the bathroom mirror chips in
with a
chiding chortle,
spasming him so hard,
mirror cracks!
right about where
the smiling mouth
and laughing rolling tears intersect,
under the nose,
landing in an open braying mouth

“Laughter is the corrective force which
prevents us from becoming cranks”

just a most excellent reminder that
gods come and go,
taste in deities is
just another fashion item

<!>
inspired by a conversation with Maira Kalman


******* a name, adopt a persona, let my fingers do the talking,
place the instrumental sharp point tip upon the blankety blank paper,
maestro baton raised, coordinating,
the first sound, the vocal chords trembling,  
the first thought, the ultrasound image, entrance of a first violin,
coalescing into, into the initializing single primary phonation,
the stinging geometry of chance at last,
throwing  down the gauntlet, glove slapping, and the
tendons tense, the mouth opens, release and indentation,
a letter's curvature, a black and white downward stroking,
a sign is televised, revealed and released

a one way only sign

time bends knee, gravity suspended, terror morphs to
expelling rapid firefights of imagery needy for spacing,
even pauses mid-word  leave just this:

where is the in in
intimate?

are you the in in
inmate,
or the jailor at the gate?

you swear never again

until committing once more,

a sentence commutation, by committing a first sentence,

and the greater toll taken and paid for,

and the in in in-nate,
questions your sanity

happily


<•>

9/17/17 10:55pm

. . . Do you still love me when you are sleeping,
Then will I fit well in your arms?
All that anger you've been keeping,
With your eyes shut can it still do me harm?

I sit here beside you afraid to lie down,
My mind can't rest after everything you've said.
I'm afraid to wake you so I don't make a sound,
I'm not sure why I even came to bed.

I have given you everything but it's not enough,
I am so sad and I feel so alone,
I want to stay but you're making it tough,
I live here but I'm not at home.

Do you still love me when you are sleeping,
Or will you push me away.
Am I something you feel is worth keeping,
Or does it make me stupid to stay?

Do you still love me when you are sleeping . . .