About Thirty Years.

I've not written verse in over seven years

And I can't stay awake to read, none the less hold a pen to paper

And write; the meaning has slipped, memories fall short

And my drive cycles through the physical, a leper

Too routine the days--salt. The nights--pepper.

Like a clock face, clock work, the onset of a turning season

Three gone, triple to seper-

Ate, and eat life likes its your last...

Seven years, my innards like phosphorescent tubes, flash

Blast, flood into a thin sheet like cake

and I drink coffee, bitter sweet, biting, and pleading to make

What I so hoped for, and somehow forgotten to ask:

Again, I beg you, please return, for empathy's sake

my loved ones, and loving memories: the remembrance of things Past.

Tampa, Florida. May 22nd, 2007.

-M.C.