What does a number do?
You’re invited—plus one
—that’s everyone!
The infinite conundrum.
snide smirks sardonic
~ Insensitivity's Tonic
Last night I couldn't
sleep a wink at all
for
the sound of thunder
like the Gods' bowling ball
rolling on a hardwood floor
resounding on the airs
doing a number on my slumber
in the room upstairs
but
in the serenity of silence
I'll switch off the light
catch a nap
and if it's quiet tonight
hopefully
between moonbeams
be
carried away on dreams sweet dreams
As parents,
we never know what a child will ask.
All we can do is,
be prepared.
Out of the blue I was asked,
"which one do you love more?"
That was an easy question and answer.
When I give out cookies,
each of you get the same number.
Because I love you each equally.
Two new stoves off-
set fifty woven ivy
nests of seven even
fewer snotty soft wet
toes than any iffy
stiff event could ever
hold a torch to
touch the blight that
grits into your
ayes and
all-enclosing rap-
id vapid wire
minds.
It's only a number you said to me,
you so much younger than I,
yet, thinking about it, I find I agree,
a number in the book of our lives.
I turn each page as if to rewrite them,
but reading the words, they define this inaness.
A boring book of too many pages
in a life of endless repetitive sameness.
My father's book ended on page seventy-four,
a book written in a language I never knew.
Filled with intrigue my mom's on ninety-two,
a Western Romance that never came true.
Several short stories that I won't speak of here.
Those lives cut short with characters undeveloped,
whose stories I would gladly have traded with my own,
if the jacket was changed and the pages re-enveloped.
Yet, I continue to read this story of me,
as the day of my birth is counted once more,
and pages turn with the briefest of breath,
while my body grows old with a mind I abhor.
The paper has worn and the numbers smeared.
Dogeared by time as each sentence entwines,
I'm trying to find the worth of my story,
but it's just so hard to read between the lines.
11/15/2024
Zombie love is still love
Deadly like wilting poisonous roses
Zero tolerance for growth
Images entwined embraced
Your fingers around my soul
Shades of gray wrapping
Like umbilical cords
A kiss to die for
Will you paint that please
Can you breathe life into
A dead romance
Black widow
with a webbed dance
Breaking my heart bones
Acidic love is so wrong
Strong
Homegrown
Weary of love jones
Sure to be the last to leave
Perhaps to be linked in eternity
As your famous subject matter
Stroking brush painting unflattered
No need to give us a name
We are broken bones of love’s disdain
As we run from the ash,
will the pyramid of peace,
save our love?
As we gasp for air,
I feel totally loved with,
"Your fingers around my soul."
As you hold me so tightly,
kiss me over and over again then,
"Kiss me when the sun sleeps..."
Here as our time is ending,
"I own your signature,"
for evermore as we close our eyes.
"I'm a vampire rose,"
is this our true death?
I can smell the sweetness of a rose,
as the vampire of life bleeds us dry.
Will we ever be found?
1n70 7h3 unkN0wn
4l3r7 bu7 n07 fu11y pr3p4r3d
M4rch d0wn 7h3 p47h 0f d15c0v3ry
4ng3r mu57 n07 b3 7h3r3
533k1ng 70 f1nd 7h47 50m37h1ng
Purp053fu1 411 7h3 w4y
34ch 573p 4 n3w h0r1z0n
C13ar 7h1nk1ng 70 7h3 3nd
1n57ruc710n5 7h3r3 4r3 n0n3
4 h4nd 70 c47ch y0u n0w
L00k1ng f0r 3v3r upw4rd
P34c3 4nd 53r3n17y 7h3r3
34rn1ng 7h3 r1gh7 70 533 7hr0ugh
R3450n1ng 4 1177l3 45k3w
534rch1ng 70 kn0w 7h3 4n5w3r
0p3n1ng 7h3 d00r 70 j0y
N0w 15 7h3 71m3 70 b3 r34l
Left little finger — mocks old strident foes.
Left ring finger — wears pale imprint after love ups and goes.
Left middle — taps out the years between hugs.
Left index finger — points up high to the heavens above.
Left thumb — presses today's stamp on yesterday's late mail.
Right thumb — flips through faded pages of old diaries.
Right index finger — traces funny faces on misted window panes.
Right middle finger — catches tears way before they fall.
Right ring finger — encircles promises with gold bands of hope.
Right little finger — wiggles forlornly until another pinky wiggles back.
Our love is the number 8:
A pair of circles
joined forever
by the touch
of a tender kiss.
We are an hourglass,
and our love flows like the sand,
each half ebbs but never empties,
each half fills but always has room
for more love to fill our souls.
It is no small miracle
that when you and I
walk side by side,
number 8 transforms us
into infinity.
The world spins but I stood still
in awe with the view
every curve consumed
the wind whispers in my ear
and my thoughts run, to you
In the madness of morning
she filters my thoughts
brightening up the moments
cutting through the chaos
of another clouded day
Looking through the windows
hoping for a light at the end of a day
he's no der wallen
just drowning in buffalo trace
and long held misery
You must go outta your way
to be alone
I try to call you on the phone
but you say you rather just
doddle around
act like a clown
what the point of calling
Singles awareness
I am aware there is no one else
Do you care that I am single
or are you aware that I am single
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