God and I struggle…with each other…As I am…His first hope…And He…is my last resort…just as every…Poet…has everything to say…even about having nothing to say…And stuttering…not having the words…And trembling…it has all been said before…And writing…might happen…And dreaming…it may even reach you…And praying…impossible…Is Love…I struggle…with…GOD… Responding to Diana C.

It’s there that silence Between lightning and thunder My moment of peace

Poetic justice When the words come out all wrong Beautifully

How to write a poem Imagine what the Cat thinks While the Dog sleeps

Ordinary days When it’s too hard not to write Watching the wind blow

Florid Organum I painted you… as a landscape…blueberry blossoms flowering… in front of the ruin…of the Inibrium Asylum…on the dark side of the dead end street…shot up…trembling…shot down…as I tried to kiss you…on the dark side of the dead end street…

Dizzy fields swaying Intoxicated on high Searing sunshine’s heat Sunflowers and vertigo Follow butterflies and bees

Poetry of place Lost among the wildflowers Bumble bees wander

I cut myself…just to watch me heal…but the blood won’t stop…this plan…has gone awry…the people…in the park…outside the window…look to be enjoying the day…And it will be a long time…before you are here…I will try… to clean up by then…And I think Anne Sexton…should only be read at night…And Bukowski…or the Bible ie, Hemingway…or even Zane Grey…during the day…sunshine regrets some adventures…while night…has no reservations…And those half empty notebooks…show…those lessons left…unlearned…through yesterday’s smile…today’s tears…I thought…tomorrow would never change you…