Write a poem a day,
then more.
Turn my guts inside out
and read the tea leaf patterns
Bottom swirl the wretched spills
on love's road bleeding.

why do I abide
in the throes of love,
whether weather fine or storms for all my eyes to see,
this is what I want to be,
rain,rain and more rain.

Fingernail drawing a slit
through an overripe moon
the juice of its light
dripping celestial body
across the little-
black dress of night.

The weeping in the hollows
Struck a tune.
Fit for a clown,
Fit for a loon.

some flowers
never tell you
their names.
(you just remember
what she smelled like).

The soul
always remembers
what the mind tries to forget.

Parallel trains of conversation,
parallel trains of thought,
a veil of words unspoken.