Inner-being

Eyes that see
Seeing as I am seeing less and less of That lately
A heart not beating for the sole purpose of breaking a heart
Since, refusing to settle,
Dancing

Character, and A character
About whom I’ll pen an epic true-story novel
A Love who’ll not put This Love on a shelf
Nor ever leave it
Unread

How Dare You Quote Whitman

Sonny, (I can call you that because I’ve grey and am much older than you)

You don’t look like a man who’dve (proper grammar? I surely don’t care)

Said what you said (but you said it, and it stole my heart)

In Chapter 25 (chapter twenty-five., to be precise)

Or even a man who’dve been able to “focus” this long (though you lay claim to seeing its virtue, so I’ll believe you)

Given the amount of time (I’ve spent more than my fair share of it and secretly believe it’s ubiquitous)

And number of exhalations I know (I know) it took away

From your habitual daydreaming (I’ve a penchant for it, too)

I could (sadly, I will) continue sharing unrequited love-jabs here

But it’s late and the (glorious, but damned) mosquitoes have made their entrance

So I laugh (always — most often at myself), and tuck your bookmark (thanks) in my bra strap (ha) instead of your book (your book, bravo) and go inside for the night (and, how dare you quote Whitman?!)

Goodnight (goodnight)

Andromeda

Before begins the countdown
A single opportunity abounds
Surely you see it

Before I seek a new galaxy
The last simulation
The door closing

Before bedtime today
Knock, You
I’ll deny the universe begging

The Book and I

Name what it’s called when you cannot help but

Address each and every creature and the

City of emotions that washes over you, leaving you in a

State of awe? And, for those who feel

Zip? What do you call them?

Out of Ireland 

The long ago
Special effects in stereo sound
Uncertain shadows
Epic, brilliant light
Clinging to a courage chair
Sinew-bending chase scenes
Not-so-tender talk 
Having lived the book
There was to come the film 

comes good

why this day remember back

why see it sealed in history’s white book

when fire and oil must’ve met?

the first time the light streak heard its thunderous voice 

no -the unexpected, accidental, fated brush which brought blush

then quiet laughter and hard tears at the relief of it all