Saturday, February 4, 2012


desperate and begging again
at the door, as always.
can't even take another bite
of my pumpkin cake without
the knocks
shattering my misery.

get out of my face
you clowns and demons
I want to nurse the hole
in my stomach, the latest of the
endless pains: teeth, ears, lungs and on
and on
how did I end up here? bathed in
orange light, eating orange foods.
in my gut, only the new pain,
and some fresh blood emotional component.
surrounded by selfish gamers, including mirrored images.
but mostly, those at the door, some in the inner circle
passive aggressive showboats. actors.

what a perfect evening.
my despair and groveling before
a blind muse.

and You; dancing, silently (smiling), in the orange light.