What do we do with time untouched?
After the dinner and decadent desserts,
After the whispers and the wine?

What do we do when the light has faded
And the breeze that once billowed
In the nebulous sheers has stilled?

What do we do with time unspoken?
After the kisses and carnal caresses,
After ecstasy and exhaustion?

What do we do once the candle is guttered and low,
And the scent of melting clings to
The windowsill and wallpaper?

'whatcha got??'
eyes wide
my janitor key ring snaps back
I slam the Motel door
hold up the Corona beer pail
from the patio bar
filled with ice
(they never put the lock on
at the 7-11 ice chest)
GREY GOOSE BABY!!!
(waiting for her to notice
the wing tips and striped dress
pants...momma said I was born to be
cool and nobodies fool)
'No way!'
cops went by in a light car but it was
moving
the catylitic aroma
no confiscating the finery

I'm in an empty room,
the only light I see is
the one coming from
the crack in the roof.
I'm holding onto a rope,
hanging from the celling,
100 feet from the ground.
I avoid looking down so
I don't get to scared. and yet
I still lose my grip. I still slip,
I still fall to my death. all to my
fait that I still haven't excepted.

Critiquing poetry
Having read you critique on my work
then having read yours
and
the comments of two
WOW’s

They know what they say
but
I have a word too
permit me will you

There is nothing I or you have said or say
that has not been said before
nor what you compose today
will not be composed
I of that I amn't sure

but life repeats itself in cycles
you are just a spoke
as we all are too

But today as you seek a PhD
I only pray good victory for you

the door shuts
and I forgot what it is
I'm looking for

..

I stood in fresh anticipation when
the early wind set out to flirt and tease;
she mussed my hair, fetched scent of dew, and then
my lungs were filled, kissed by a bracing breeze.
At last the blazing, crimson gleam appeared,
the underside of azure clouds were sprayed;
my heart aglow as now the dawning neared,
then amber shafts split faerie haze and played.

blankets . something you can
lean on that's always there.
something that is portable,
something that you can hide under,
something you can cry into. but
it's also something that covers,
and holds all your problems. your
blanket knows why your crying and
it holds on to that. and in the process
it is hiding and taking away the problem
from you. it's coverage from anything,
everything, and something.

Don't you ever hear parents tell their children,"why don't you try coloring IN the lines"? I feel there are no lines in the world. No one has a perfect life, so they don't have the lines to know when to stop coloring. Artists show optimistics in this situation. Optimistics think that everything is great. They think that we're all in the lines. Thats because if we color in the lines the picture is perfect and we are our own picture. The optimistics are wrong. Our picture's lines aren't going together right, so we can't finish our picture.