feel alive

I drifted the avenues counting pennies,
collecting wishes and boredom.
Lingering along chianti corners
among fading horns and old pianos;
only in the darkness can I hear you.

cbeth

Designer steeds arrive:
strange, rustic verses,
seldom served in pride.
Give the bard a wager;
a fare, a cold sonnet,
rhyming toasts to love.
A rhyme with no muse,
neither legend nor poetry.
What drink is in order
to host a quaint death
that was evident?.

cbt

Why should I care about
pretty little notions
in ties that were not real
beneath the words
the never drift
between us. . .

Losing discretion
in all the insanity
of dying resolutions,
and spells that begin
with no meanings.

But still,
it seemed to feel,
so personal.

Why should I care about
daydreams that scatter;
pages fly on shadows
and turn on a feeling.

Those fears that belong
where do they go
when I am away?
So much confusion
in all that vanity.

But still. . .