rem sleep…

rem sleep...

dancing
on
the edge
of
a dream
that
place
where all things
are
possible
and
anything
can be
undone
decisions
poorly made
corrected
old
arguments
won
salty tears
dried
and
blown
into
nonexistence
one can
also
fulfill
suspended dreams
caress
lovers
never held
taste
the honey
of
lips
only seen
from
a distance
even
succeed
where failure
prevailed
oh
this is a marvelous place
these
moments
between
night
and
dawn
resting
on
a new day’s
pillow

 

 

unclaimed…

unclaimed

gathered up
my
memories
and
placed them
upon
my mind’s table
sorted
through
a few
and
tossed others
aside
especially
the ones
tainted
by
the hatred
of
others
there
were quite
a few
of
those
including
several
i had not
recognized before
but
i
like others
are
haunted
by
apparitions
of
yesterday’s
trust and belief
in
any case
the remaining memories
were
of
loves lost
and
loves unclaimed
each
unique
in their own way
none 
could
or
should
be regretted
just
past moments
in
time
unclaimed baggage
from
a trip
long completed

rocks and stones…

rocks and stones

so many words
of
sorrow
but
none
that will
raise
the dead
nor
stop
the flow
of
tears
traversing
from
eye
to
chin
no
magical terms
to
erase
the pain
embedded
deep
within
hearts
as
love’s warmth
surrenders
to
death’s coldness
leaving
empty spaces
in
beds
spaces
filled
with
apparitions
of
life
life’s holograms
that
vanish
with
dawn’s first light
leaving
untouched pillows
and
broken
hearts

 

melvin’s country store…

melvin's general store

odd little place
nestled
among
ohio’s hills
a general store
ran
by
the appearance
of
its owner
for
decades
upon
decades
as would be expected
everything
you might fancy
was
available
some things
i hadn’t seen
since
my youth
were
readily available
enamored
by
this relic of time
and
its owner
i asked
to take his photo
he said
most certainly
but said
just one moment
he went
into
another room
i noticed him
slicking down his hair
for
the picture
i
also noticed
a calendar
with
days x-ed out
after
taking his portrait
i
inquired
about the calendar
he said
i’m marking the days
till
my death
curious
i inquired
when might that be
he said
i don’t know
the marks
are to remind me
to celebrate
each day
as if
the
last

beyond the city lights…

beyond the city lights

places
hidden places
places
without names
or
ways to return to
where
the smell of spring
lingers
in uncut grass
and
meadow flowers
where breathing
was
easy
and
footsteps
fell silent
on dirt roads
sounds
heard
small birds
and
a choir
in an old
country church
hymns
from voices
that
have long passed away
to
other places
also
hidden