I should be writing.
I should be reading.
I should be sleeping.
Why am I crying instead?
Aurora
The morning process
Of making the coffee.
Sitting in darkness
Waiting for the moments
Of calm.
Dark black moments
Where I sip
On calmness.
Then listen again
To cat crys
And see again
The new dawn.
Desire
I wanted very much
To be a writer –
To chronicle the pain
Of others.
Not that of my family
Or friends.
Not that of my heart.
Puddles
i’m an odd duck
In the pouring rain.
A poet with muddy tail feathers
And an unusual refrain.
Prediction
I don’t know
When the madness began
But I do know
How and when
The madness will end.