like the kid with a
fistful of
coins,
but no wishes or
fountains of
fish
just his
own reflection..
in a puddle, begging
closer inspection.
Author: grumpygorman
i see your face
clear,
not here, but
clear,
i hear your voice
true,
‘least it sounds
like you
are here with
me too,
so, how am
i blue?
the frontiers of
fantasy
stretched beyond mind’s
capacity
for
imagination’s escape
from sinkhole
stagnation–
letting cold demands go,
so dreams may
better
flow.
the darkest cloud in
blue expanse
doesn’t stand
a chance
when challenged by
surroundings..
can’t help but
burst or
dance
over
the
world’s passing
glance.
curtain ripples
from warm
breath
of dawn strange
to threat
may down ‘morrow’s
midday moon-
shall not fret, fire
will rise
soon.
hail through a
window-
crouch behind the
couch,
until
it melts–
into a puddle of
much less
trouble..
barely
felt.
he
swung
traaapeze!
ballerina below shook
her leaves
to catch his
gaze..
on the prize-
his life,
in no position
to choose
a wife.
fake it till you make it
what you
wish
to
say to
passers by
no longer in
the way,
break
it-
and take time to
build it
firm..
to support full
weight of
form..
may survive all
storms?
a shake of the
head
dislodges dim night’s
dread
watch it flake to
floor to be
swept-
with any other
clutter
i’ve stepped
over.
a sun drunk
song..
soaked into
pores,
pour me one
more
he who knows
what for?
a sun sunk
under
eyes
midst the stars’
slurred
reply.
hands in the garden 
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