Monday, September 21, 2015


I dream of flower petals
The soft stroke
Of tender fingers
Across my brow
Or cast across my path
Like pink snow
I ache for the just turned leaves
Autumn’s lips
Tips dipped in bits of red,
I ache to kiss
I live a Wizard of Oz life
The scared man behind the curtain,
The cowardly lion
Stumbling and bumbling
Through a landscape
Of Freudian slips
Over which I constantly trip,
Never able to say
What I need to say
When I need to say it
My head so full of haze
It might be cotton candy,
Or the faded pink
Of a faded movie,
With me
Always aching in mid step
To stop and dive deep
Into the midst of pink,
To spread it
and taste what
Lay beneath,
To kiss the red tips
And tender lips,
Each pedal a special gift
Too frail to touch too hard,
But I always do,
Me, lost in this maze
Of my own making,
A bumbling, tumbling
Head of straw
Knowing my brain
Can’t cure the pain
A metal man searching for a heart
That is already broken,
Each joint stiff
With the fall of rain,
And still the pain
Comes, the ache pounds
Inside me as if I am trapped
Inside my own chest
A phony wizard
Needing to drown myself
Once and for all
In pink.

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