Love is not
for the weak-hearted...

In love, we wittingly expect the unexpected
so when that big red smear...

After many, many months of obedient refusal
this morning, I embraced my pen intimately...

Yesterday, not only did prose taste strange
but an unfamiliar maundering...

Winter does not fit me well
with it's white skirt of frigid drapery...

With only the rain to hear me,
my voice grumbles within...

I could bask along the shorelines
of a man's aquatic soul...

Outside October perches its little feet
upon summer's fading scenery...

I am sickened
by my own poetry...

Hey there best friend
could you possibly wag your sharp tongue...

Sometimes I skip breakfast
and eat poems instead...

Dreams
are falling...