I am a sidewalk
one upon whom your
feet dragged heavy and
wet and tired
and I wonder where you
are going
and where you're coming
from
I look up constantly and
am tired of soles and legs and
panties and dropped coins
and litter
and indifference
Too many people, too few dogs
and cats and some rats at night
But you are
different. You wear no shoes and
your little feet are cold and
so delicate
and in your wake you are painting
me with a trail of blood
you are not in the mood to
receive compliments, I know. But
I'll say it anyway. You are beautiful
I hope he never catches you
I wish there was
something I could do
about it
"When you no longer
see the shadow of what
kept you strong
it's time to let go."
Those would be the last words
he wrote
at the back of the notebook
he filled with thoughts
and rants
and poems
‘Thoughts That Come From
The Heart’
was the title
and the work will remain
for long after he'd
pass away
At least that was the plan
But alas,
as he gave his final breath the
cigarette rolled from his fingers
to the desk and all the way
down on the shaggy carpet
It was a matter of minutes
until the
whole room became
a snapshot from the inferno
It's almost like the gods
want to send
a message. They want to
say that poets
rarely
if ever
have happy endings
I'm starting to
believe that
more and
more as
the days pass
Daydreaming as a profession 