pillow thoughts

i close my eyes
and see the stars
burn bright

like ghostly spires

summoning the scenes
soon cast
to thought

the wistful sear
of ceremony

fraught with seas
of sentiment

the present’s
mirrored presence

a mirage

the pin
pricks of the erstwhile

we watched

awash with sorrow

whose poignancy

was spurned
and spent for naught

by the looming morrow

with lament

as the pillow
wrests my head

to see us


there is a fine line
between life and death

at least, there was
until you snorted it

threw your head back
winced in pain

as i exclaimed
“that’s NOT cocaine!”


still, i must report

the ochre ache
each day

in its apprisal

clement spires

the framed inversions

set to sine

whose firmament
was forged in limbo

cast in curse

through time

i guess
it was not all
a loss

at least
as long
as you got high

red sun

i saw the sky
succumb to gray

when last i held
my head up high

the storm was nigh

though stern
with pride

it washed away
my wistful sigh

and in its wake
a will awoke

whose end
spoke ire forthcoming

and to this day
the red sun, scorching

tends the toil
that whispers i