WITH THE CRICKETS AT NIGHT

I have stood
empty-handed,
liberated,
one is company,
and even a
shadow's too much.

I am with
the crickets at
night, breathing
in the dark watching
nothing, hearing
every single sound

those critters
make: a language
I don't understand,
but enjoy a great
deal. It makes me
feel I'm not alone.

 

RIPE

I'm too ripe.
I'm not raw
like I used to be.

Wisdom seems
to have skipped
out on me. I'm dumb.

But I have
always been
too hard on myself.

I'm standing
in the sun
decomposing: no

shady tree
near to find
some needed solace.

I avoid
small talk, but
I can be a good

listener.
But these days
I want some quiet.

I don't want
wisdom or
education.

I have had
enough. I'd
like to get some sleep.

Count some
white and black
sheep jumping backwards.

I'm too ripe.
The sun has
had its way with me.

 

SICK AND DYING

When I am sick and dying,
almost losing my voice,
I hope I have enough
strength inside of me
to flirt with a nurse or
two; not be crass or rude,
but able to point out all
the small things that
make such a difference:
how pretty their hair
looks; how sweet their smiles.
I'll keep the R-rated and
beyond thoughts to myself.
When I am sick and dying
I want to have enough strength
to hold a pencil or pen
to dash out a few lines:
go out writing while I
still have one breath inside.

 

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