His words were from dime stores,
and while plain, they were honest.
Those words made beauty form
out of pain, all while being modest.

Words are merely storage
for the stories that we tell,
and each author knows which
words are best for the stories that they spell.

There is no right or wrong
when it comes to writing lines.
The only right I know,
so I find, is the value of a dime.

I was a child once
for a year or two
maybe three
then my provider left
and came back
and left again...
....came back.
You know the story
how the wife just can't live without him.

You know all fairy tales have happy endings
but did you know that none of them started that way.
I'm trying really hard to spin this yarn
and I think I can write a little,
yet I just don't know how
to change this ending.

What a lie
that I can own the moon,
The untruth
Which makes me think
I can hold the sun

It is selfishness
To believe
that someone feels
As I do
Or expect that love
Will return
Just as light arrives
On a brand new day

Seeing the green grass
Grow to only whither
As winters wind
Begins to blow,
The heart felt chilling
Bitter cold
Which steals away
Springs green glow

there's a boneyard to the left
of the kitchen

ten thousand elephants
have wondered through

like triumphant
ivory

like memories chained together
in dust

brutal eve
singing twixt bank
delved refreshed
persistant

rattling like a loose
shock
jarring memories
pantry stock
the winter preserve
the crystal lake top

suffuse drift
like bread
takes dryness
and stirs the
gut to action
stymies restless
desire
and a hunger
forever gaunt

worn are the weary
with pursuit
run mannerism

Silent Smiles...

In silence she smiles...
She produces a kid annually...
her hubby doesn't like condoms casually.......

Silently she smiles as an insane one....
she cannot conceive since four years...
her hubby fears....
his semen maybe infertile...
but she continues to smile

as if she alone is barren...
a woman...

Yet both hold on
to their smiling countenance
to let others also smile...

So quietly enjoy your life
as you alone
SILENTLY SMILE..

I lost something in those pubic years,
although I would never know what.
It seemed important at the time
and left a hollow deep inside of me.

The years had past me by and by.
I forgot I was even looking.
Yet the dark feeling loomed about
'til obvious punched me in the jaw.

What was lost could never be found.
It died somewhere around age thirteen
behind an imaginary line
that you were never suppose to cross.

Armour plating buccaneers of lonelines
Archaeopteryx in a banished island
Percipient of the fleets mumble

Troglodyte deciduous with their flying wing
Grounds also for their surplus decay
That sunflowers subside the penducle

Stones in the meaning of loneliness
Baked camels of the rivers throng
Capsules digests up as death floats placebo

The silhouetted moon grates on the curtain cape
A signet ring to sexless polaris neuwters
Pewter with the groaning combustion monolith

husk of dreams
bask
viscous
flow

click of a
moment
like a seconds
stitch

swept
stillness
emotional
pin pulled

seconds flick
enumeration
smudge on
inked speed
love
whorls and
dashes
re coil less
and flavored

perfume and
adrenaline
benzos
and absorbine
a lite stutters
in the garish
stream
gushing
cold and clean
to a faucets
squeal

Headlights stuck behind me,
driving on the same road as I on this lonely night,
remind me of spotlights
and of terror.
I feel the same heat behind my eyes
from burdens and insecurities that do not try to hide,
unlike the tears inside,
that worry in silence
for those lights in the mirror.