O cold and icy moon
I foresee your light
Shining in the night
Casting a shadow
On my own waiting gravestone.

It was my evening, that's
For sure,
‘Its your aura...
When are you going
To be a superstar?’

That seemed to be
The question
On everyone’s lips,
At last, at last, at last
I'm good at something.

References
To my innocent face.
‘You give to everyone
But are incapable
Of giving in particular…

Inscrutable...blasé…’
Everything I’d always
Wanted to be, I now am.
At last, at last, at last
I'm good at something.

Mrs. Claus sits in her chair
Eating Christmas cookies
She's had a few drinky-poos
And is hoping for some nookie

She's got the hot-tub nice and warm
Santa will be home soon
Cookies made with cannabis butter
Will help him get in tune

Damn! It's hard to be the wife
Of the guy that delivers Christmas
She's fast asleep, while he works away
He forgets he has a missus

I'm just here staring at your dp... you're just so beautiful
And honestly to behold a being like you is a miracle
I wonder how atheists believe God doesn't exist
When I gain Faith with just one look at your face
It must've been fate for us to cross place
I mean for our paths to cross
We're lovers but we're not star crossed
But let me be your Romeo and be my Juliet
And if I lose you I would cry coz even God's shed tears
I mean even Jesus wept

With shorter days and longer nights
came winter’s bleakness all-too soon.
Dark water gleams with thin ice floes
reflecting the cold winter moon.

Lake Michigan has many moods;
now, waves pile up and soon begin
to pummel piers, then breach the shore.
Today those heavy gales came in

from northern lakes; they send stout ships
in search of harbor, heeding shoals.
This is the time that does depress
all land-bound, small-craft sailors’ souls.

It seems to me that the sweetish
foul odor of the jungle will stay
in my nostrils forever, or at least
until the day I die and join my buddies,
Consider these facts if you will:

Some 206 bones make up
the adult’s fragile frame, one
that a mortar shell can fragment
into twice that number.

An enemy’s partial remains
spread out in Laos’ jungle rot;
the rest hangs suspended
in dense growth among orchids.

His Soul
So dark, cold, and eerie is it,
but I clung to it with dear life.
fear of loss thickens in my mind,
so I clung to it with dear life.
BUT IT WAS SO COLD!
The very thought makes me shiver,
makes me wince,
makes every single freaking hair stand on the back of my neck.
But I clung to it with dear life.
Dark
Oh oh so dark.
My hands disappear,
I couldn't seem to find my way,
my life
OR EVEN MY FREAKING VOICE!
But, still, I clung to it with dear life.

You still didn’t have your license
- at eighteen! - I thought it was kind of funny
since I was driving at fifteen or so

We practiced in my five-hundred-dollar car
with your slightly bruised ego for company
The radio playing music we liked
keeping demons barely at bay

But all I could really think about
was your peculiar smile competing with the sun
wrapped in a flower print dress
trimmed in white lace

I feel like an overflowing river,
streaming consciousness.
I feel like an instrument,
tuned to your pitch.
Drink me, play me;
here I am, waiting
in this eternity,
breathing integration
as a calibration
to the connection of our bodies.
We entertained close enough
for our stories to intertwine, now
unraveling one another
from the fabric
floating again along the cosmos.
I tune into
this distant dance
surrendering me
to relax
from the acquiescence
of gentleness

My mother lay there dying,
Her moans in the roars of the ventilators drowned.
I stood outside in the parking lot crying,
No visitors allowed

The thoughts of things left unsaid floated all around.
Things I should have told her before the darkness comes down.
Things I would whisper gently in her ear. Kiss her lovingly on her crown.
It's too late now.

She fades away and the machines quieten down. All that's left for me is to leave the place where no visitors allowed