Limp little plant, almost a bud
Simple petal, soft not bright
Will beauty live
Survive the night
...
All the looks, the way you feel
The eyes that fall, the hands that will
The touch that won’t
A back, a chin
...
What happens to?
Those sleep filed nights
That stops before the dawn
On mornings of that day…
...
He got to be bi-polar, schizoid or something
Living on the street that way
Connecticut, near the circle, his beat
Neither forlorn, nor left alone long
...
go back...you say
to good 'ole days'
'ole boys' and fools repeat
ad infinite, it seems
...
Somebody loved me
From deep inside
Where all is dark and angels hide
Somebody took me
...
Those sticks…
Well since it’s the day after Memorial Day
The first day of summer
...
12 souls at 7: 00 pm
The party was in its second day
Or it was the second day of the party
...
I didn't grow the pumkin, or carry it to town. i didn't sell the pumpkin, or carry it around. I bought the pumpkin. What do wine sellers buy?)
The Twig
Limp little plant, almost a bud
Simple petal, soft not bright
Will beauty live
Survive the night
Know summer storm
Feel nature's might
Take eyeless touches
A thousand sniff's
The desperate grasping
The one moist gift
From timeless depths
Dark theives seek light
In pseudo-ivory towers
Seeping stucco and tar
It grows
While glancing vapidly
At the reflection
Of a rose
By Stephen Lee Gregory