living on the edge

not quite anorexic

not quite dead

years followed like yellow-fin tuna

migrating with dolphin

caught in the same trap

i looked for the silver-lining

the glimmer in someone’s eye

all the same false talking points

“hang on, it will be better -tomorrow

all these tears will dry…”

while you swim against the tide

swallowed by depression

followed by ghosts of pride

The Painting

growing restless

blown-out candles

leave behind smoke

rising stories fill the senses

pictures forming

paints are humming

mixed-up hues of

ochre, verde, sepia,

cadmium orange and cyan

hand is trembling

voice is scratchy

heart stops

catch your breathe

close your eyes -handle

of brush levitates

and down splashes your sweat

amongst the tears of increasing years

quiet, taut and invisible

signs of life approaching

nearer the canvas

and soon your caught

ropes and hooks

with a fisher’s net

of scrambled puzzles

non-configured, contorted syllables

poetic verse undressed

and therein lies the bare necessities of The Painting.

could be missing me

she took exit 183

where the road appears

to stretch farther

seems longer and then

found out

he had left early morning

after a restful night

of chirping crickets

and a moon serenade,

waiting for her at exit 182.

—–

this heart exits

at love-broken

your mind stops

at soft-spoken

our life resists

tokens of

could be’s and missing me.