Living Scribbles for the Dead

Split a borderline personality,

Get two halves of neurotic modality.

Emotional commotion–

An ‘already dead’ notion.

Can’t see the forest for the trees

when a tree is all you see–

Overlooking sources of seeds,

And depth of her heart that bleeds.

The careless can’t care, not don’t.

The lifeless can’t live, not won’t.

Torn and twisted loveless slopes

Sprouted the withering of her hopes.

Abandonments sent a piercing scream

In the green field of a cemetery scene.

Isolation’s home sweet home–

The darkness for words to roam.




Small bits,

partial pieces 

of ideas…



The essence of a calling…

Here & there,


 Indistinct affinities,

unsecured allies…

“Get-you-through” types of gatherings…

Subdued sentiments…

Feelings on the wayside…

Here & there,

Time after time.

How all this together

could become splendid.

Still, potential’s unsure…



 for a million bits and pieces 

of awry ambition

to perspire glues of endurance

assembling social mosaics.

Mosaic effect

Maybe, someday, 

I’ll slumber like a dove–

sweetly, serenely–

 next to my love.

Maybe, someday,

my eyes will open– aligned 

with his inhales & exhales

synced with mine.

Maybe, someday,

I’ll kiss his neck,

caress his face,

and squeeze him, dearly,

with my embrace.

Maybe, someday,

I’ll admire our thighs intertwined

in the unknown symmetry 

of affectionate design.

Maybe, someday can never come

And imagination is all I have

 to keep from going numb…