miss you
because
i know
you
are not here
anymore

makes me sad

poetry
should never
be
about death
like
who wants to
hear
about how you
are sitting in
a room
somewhere
dying

holding
myself hostage
had a big
gun
pointed
at the door
and one more
pointed
at my head

inspired
you were my
inspiration

put away the past
drive
carefully
place me
in the mirror

was
a baker for
an upscale
restaurant
in chicago

i made doughnuts
filled
with homemade soda
and
once and awhile
ingredients
scrapped
from my shoe

those
sold
and tasted better
so
i quit
opened a goldmine

does it
sound

just feels like
silence

quick
play a song
that
makes me
want
to seal your wounds
and
grow lavender

here
we go again

the sun thru
the window

the chip monks
speaking chip monk

the stupidity of
television

the anxiety in
everything

the lonliness in
watermellon

the happiness i see
in you

suddenly
i know
something

it comes
in a glass
check
for tannins

can feel now
again even use
tools like a screw
driver

build
what i want

went home
to
watch a movie

being alone is
scary
but
only on mondays

usually survive
by
going for a
walk

if you practice
you can learn
and teach
just like
a
professional

maybe some
angles and
sell me a
piece of
time   wrap it
up
to go   we will
have it later
under the tree
just like
buddha

one of many
secrets
of life
is
happiness

now
go find some