Two?

Gave
I gave in awe of you 

Loss
My loss when you went mute

Ask
With hope I did ask of you,

"What's one plus one?"

If I am to love
With no one to care to be loved
And to only love alone
Then it's a love that doesn't matter

Her Paper Boats

She folded paper boats with ease
Creases pinched crisp with a sting
Nurturing the counterfeit frame
Set a goliath for guppy waters

But on a current of teeth?

Feeble as the hands bent to pretend the honest sail
Soak and fail this print of mush in the vast
Then send another boat sinking
Then another boat sinking

These are the passages she folded so free

The Song's Working Title Was "Why Did It Die?"

Though I might try I can not write what was just recently thrown away. First it must drown. Rot. Suffer. Decay. Wither in absence of the one who let go. Then I'll gaze at that death preserved, some voodoo shrunken head at which I can piss on in great relief.

Until I tinkle, in apropos of the current hurt (yay) I'll leave it best to the Beatles to sing For No One.

Sonnet CXXXVII

Thou blind fool, Love, what dost thou to mine eyes,
That they behold, and see not what they see?
They know what beauty is, see where it lies,
Yet what the best is take the worst to be.
If eyes, corrupt by over-partial looks,
Be anchored in the bay where all men ride,
Why of eyes' falsehood hast thou forged hooks,
Whereto the judgment of my heart is tied?
Why should my heart think that a several plot,
Which my heart knows the wide world's common place?
Or mine eyes, seeing this, say this is not,
To put fair truth upon so foul a face?
   In things right true my heart and eyes have erred,
   And to this false plague are they now transferred.

-- Shakespeare's Sonnets, William Shakespeare

Sully Drop Sigh

See? This grey dawn is as the deep of winter
The grease of throughways and the veil of rooftops made scant
By the plod of punching rain 
To weep
By this rave a typhoon did whip
And maim the happy poor
And drown the many boatless
And made slinky dancers of palms
Broadcasting the float of all that is filth
On flood rivers of careless ruin steering wicked disaster 
To all those sunless within the vicinity of this 
Garbage crumpled to hurt
An inept bastard trashed

Who then cries

"See? This grey dawn is as"

This Day In January

How's it going? Not particularly well.

Ahead of Mr. Stays

The warmth lingers but soon is gone 

with remnants of the prior good slipping across asphalt

Past stop signs that remain stationary and designated one ways

But the slip goes its own way and moves despite our bridle aims

(How feeble our tried controlling)

As gone, it goes again further

In the empty made past, the cold reigns and creeps to rub those left

Who sought and hold onto what made the prior great

Then to he who looks down and stays

And holds roses in full, thorns breaking as deep as it is embraced

He bleeds with knowing what pain that is this grip

To hurt himself in hope what was the good, persists

But she walked (as they all walked) in the wake of what he does not grasp:

To persist he too must go

To be good is to go

With the warmth that slips and the cold that creeps

Down that road where they've gone ahead

So fit in their endeavor, found warmth for themselves

and with able men who move past signs and walk their own way

fighting cold with a coat of weathered callouses

See as he perceives, naked but stained in thorns

Still standing the ill as all the rest go on across

With the last of that linger with a grip bleeding steady dumb

Relief in seeing the fire of women who lived on

The Crash and The Mistress

I'm neither dent nor care in this world of hers

For all her woes I am of little worth and

So should it be that she is such; she toils hard and I'm just a bum

The loud mass that speak and say to her 

Commanding, deciding "Do what must"

I am just one who has given unfit heart

In faint voice suggesting "Do what you like"

Heard or unheard I am left hanging

As a care not cared for, evident by stranding through silence

And I alone to myself so quiet I think it just 

To go to bed and not wake

Yes embrace the pillows of how I crash