Under cover of night as day passes over us like a funeral shroud. I watch you from an expanse of perpetual sorrow and I’m reminded that recognizing beauty still ticks in the bones of this old dog.
You tell me my poetry honors you when truth be told I’m so grateful to share my gifts with a muse of your hallowed stature.
I know you’re paying attention and that wakes me up more than any Mickey Mouse alarm clock ever could.
Listening to the music between the droplets of rain on the sleeve of your summer gown, I desire to see you beneath the moonlight on the open prairie.
I’ve tried slowing down for my friends and loved ones, but I still discover myself alone because an artists’ sacrifice is never done.
Moral superiority is for the circus clowns miming for laughs under a big top of mediocrity and methadone addiction.
I won’t deny I’m a hologram of my former self and still I pursue my appetites like a bulimic looking forward to their next big blow out.
We’re all accounting for time in some fashion or other that we believe is unique to our past, present or future situations.
I’m not one for the beach because I cannot stand the grains of sand getting stuck between my toes and in the crack of my bum.
You help me widen the search of my soul as I pretend I’m Odysseus because as wandering heroes go I believe it’s best to go back to the source and fight the temptation to buy the cliff notes.
I’m getting sleepy, but I won’t rest until this poem is finished and the episode of “NYPD Blue” I’m watching is over.
You’re a lasting reminder of just how much of an impression a person can make on another person even and especially when the world is burning all around us.
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