Cover Me

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Oh to be
The skin exposed 
Near cashmere coverings

Its defiant dare
Can draw the stare
And tempt the mind of things

But that which waits
Beneath the warmth
And silently bids “come”

Is the skin 
I wish to wear;
For whose dream-er I drum

Good Traveller

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I know a mantra or maybe a motto
Said in silence or sometimes aloud
Reminding what’s real and what isn’t whose

Sad at the start
The center convicting
By the end nothing’s certain except that all’s OK 

Then begins the search for the voice that sounds the same as the one that I’d warned ought be a good traveller

And it becomes clear

It’s been there for some time on errands and visits and telling it’s truths and the truth

Now what say you voice of what’s real and what’s whose and is all in truth OK?

Author Where Are You 

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Do I overdo it

You must understand that these pages give me great reason to sigh

Both for the comfort that they speak and the words of pain and fulfillment not yet written

I often talk in epic terms and I am most sincere in my belief 

That this book needs your ranting and conviction and trouble so pick up your pen

The Pieces

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Nameless, faceless and unable to throw away pieces

Of paper

To do so would be to discard one’s self

And the world doesn’t need anymore sadness

Keep them

The pieces

Keep them for dangerous notes, ideas of intrigue and little love messages

Out of the box and into my heart for safekeeping

Them

The pieces

And your name and that face