In a townhouse in New York, full pop cans lay, gathering dust that falls down through the air, air that shouldn't have dust, and it recieves frowns from the face of a man with nothing to say to the cans. In uptown there's a cab waiting, but this is his house, his dust, his cans, and his brown leather chair, neat, unused, so he'll stay. He dare not sit on the chair, nor drink the pop on the counter. They will not be as they used to, and they are so well preserved. If a spot - he looks up in ho...

That wasn't me crying at midnight to the melodramatic hum of Beethoven, wishing to paint the eyes of a vanishing smile. Lips parted, hair messed, panic riding up on cheeks grown pale, as I search for pink to make them come alive. They whisper forest words in vain ears, those eyes, to the sounds of midnight engulfed in streetlight in D minor.

Your love is like the molasses you use to make cookies. Dark and gooey, it pours slowly, sticking to everything, the bowl, the spoon, your fingers, and your rings that you forgot to take off before baking, covered in flour already, now a sweet, goopy mess. You take a taste of it, and it coasts your throat all the way down. The love in the jar won't go bad, but when you're done you cleanse the rim with hot water, wiping all the excess off so you can put the lid back on and shelve it in the cup...

Let ink to paper flow Sliding on smooth and slow Rhyme and tale; joy and woe Let the ink to paper flow Let the ink to paper fly Bringing all emotions nye Author's laugh; author's sigh Let the ink to paper fly Let the ink to paper crash Words against your sense lash Every comma, every dash Let the ink to paper crash

Here's your little wax candle, see it burn? It's bright, full of light, and all the world turns to see it flickering. It's the light of sorrows and delight and it rises higher to shine through the night. But its got flame at both edges, and your candle grows hot, slowly melting into nothing, while pretending its not. See the flame burn lower. Its a candle on a shelf. Who needs much light when its only yourself? Yes, hide that candle sot that no one can see; I've been watching it flicker in fa...

Wind against the sea water, Molding shallow serf, delicate lace; Emotions surge wildly beneath, But on the surface, not a trace. Perfect. Ripples fading into rippling waves, While angry currents and sea monsters sleep. Come, dear, once more into my heart, And into the blue oceans of the

Pardon the poetry, my use of translucent phrase, my wordy worded maze lacking coherent symmetry, silently invoking ennui, as your eyes slowly glaze. Forgive me my verse, all my feinted idioms, my linguistics and "te deum"s. It's writer's written curse that my pen is never terse, reflecting the past like a museum.