I hear between the tics and tocs,
in bed within the depth of night,
from both the hall and mantle clocks
the sound of running feet so slight
so quiet that they must wear socks.

To hear them one must listen fast
they follow on time's tics so swift
each step there...and then it's passed
flashed into some sort of rift
as present moves into the past.

Because I could not stop for Death,
He kindly stopped for me;
The carriage held but just ourselves
And Immortality.

We slowly drove, he knew no haste,
And I had put away
My labour, and my leisure too,
For his civility.

We passed the school where children played,
Their lessons scarcely done;
We passed the fields of gazing grain,
We passed the setting sun.

We paused before a house that seemed
A swelling of the ground;
The roof was scarcely visible,
The cornice but a mound.

Wicked woman
a clothes slogan in my shirt
designed to catch the eye
of those who wish to be wicked women, why.

We grab at things that give us patina, style,
we clothe our bodies, minds
with themes that we admire.

We boast of knowledge
we haven't yet acquired,
and hope to make effect;
get admiration for our power of intellect.

When deep inside
we know we lack the insight to be wise,
have not learnt the basics of a theme
that needs intelligence.

EMPTY CRADLE
[Robert Longo-Geremia :
May 15, 1940-May 15, 1940]

I’ve come too far
I can’t go back
the world doesn’t know me
anymore
but I am here
and must see it through
living not for one
but two

one child dies
another fills an empty womb
so here I am
and I have to see it through

One soul into another
you are my other self
you are my brother....