They say keep your chin up,
they say hold your head high...

(Stanzas in [] refer to the son and those without...
A noise from downstairs...

A straggler hanging
from its naked limbs, golden and brown...

I look to the trees,
begging them...

As I watched from across the bar,
I could see her pain and emptiness within...

As I walked into the backyard to find my son,
I wondered how I could ever explain it to him...

A poem is like a window
whether clear or color paned...

The sun doth play its tricks
as it hides behind the clouds. So fast...

Sickly sought a new facade, so
asked, of this to Inhibition...

Sometimes I lay awake at night
with not a single sheep in sight...