gone before dark

i am made of poison

pushing words out from the depths of my black headache, i doodle on a scrap of paper to avoid the crazy gaze of the shouting street preacher man on the subway. he does not need to see that we have met before, that i once looked with love into eyes much like his own, fascinated by his poetry just before it took us both over the edge...

spent $15 on a european magazine so i could read an interview with prince keanu in french, but apparently the north american version comes in english. can't decide if that's better or worse. at least the pictures are the pictures are the pictures...

visions of drummers and bridesmaids and arsenal games and spain...that and the light of the fading sun on the skyscrapers downtown this evening were enough to put a hint of a smile back where it belongs

it has been a few years since the tulips were this good
that summer was the one when he scratched our initials into the sidewalk
then the floods came,
and the mice
and soon enough he was gone;
now, i'm still here
the floods have been again,
the mice are returned
and he is still gone.

i know this by now
when a married man invites you to vacation in the guest room of "my little apartment" out of town, it means danger
we are all guilty of something...
acceptance
if these are my joys, so be it

one must practice...
something
anything