Self-Portrait at 41

Fat and tall, fat more than tall, Elephantine in some ways,   How I hear the conscience louder than ever, And the needs diminishing slowly.    Like how my wife is not the vixen in bed anymore, Only a sandbag on days, while a sand castle on others,   I’m like a book with discolored…

Beautiful Love

The madness, the folly, Wind, storm and hurricane First moisture and last drop The epiphany and the holy truth Converse shoes and space suit In a being, whitewashed by the tide Of that torment called yearning, Creeping like a gangling vine Searching for the glimpse of the sun To climb to where it all blooms…