My grieving heart is powerless to quell
the rigors of life in this world that I dwell
haunted by hate for having loved too well,
I don’t know what this journey will foretell.

And now I suffer a fate worse than hell
To love passionately and dare not to tell,
While my damned demons howl and yell
these benumbing fears my voice curtail.

Stalked by spirits of the darkest night may impel
before long my poor soul will be hauled to hell    
that no harrowing abyss on earth can parallel
and no wizard can break this most awful spell.

Even though veritable hypothetical unknown females
courtesy Facebook Messenger
frequently pepper their text messages to me
with sweet nothings,
which figurative playful banter tickle my fancy,
and immediately triggers romantic fantasies
courtesy every "Jane, Liz, and Mary,"
I (a former Norwegian bachelor farmer
now married Caucasian, latitudinarian,
nonestablishmentarian, sexagenarian, 
and Unitarian Democrat)
imagine dragon Siamese triplets
across the dance floor which
three in one package
considered a peculiar form of polygamy

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Trapped in a glistening steel glass tempered elevator lowering in a quirky gothic creaky fashion this portrait artist and painter of the color field vibration and adrenaline aesthetic. Angel of the sand blown wood grain canvas, Orson.
He always had this notion of waves washing over him as he painted exclusively with Odette.
In the elevator itself Orson felt he brought his own ecosystem with him.
Their overt displays of affection as well evoked moonlight and sunny shores in each others eyes were included in the elevator in reality in tandem with fantasy.

It’s going to. change, somewhere on the  near horizon,
at least in my case, in concrete terms  of intuition,
in an overall sense the future is bright I’d say

Where the nexus of exhaustion
and desperation exists,
where mingles ennui and hope,
where the land collapses
into the maternal arms of the sea,
where a bird and a fish may make a home,
where I last saw you happy
and flush with life,
meet me there.

I do not care as to the time or day,
whether it is at the crossroads
of day and night,
at the nebulous confluence
of the witching hour,
at the promising corner
of the morning rays.

Or, even as it is now,
at the middle of the day,
with just a few clouds in the sky

forever dooming how the missus and I relate
where interplay, foreplay and coldplay
insinuated themselves within mine pate,
once I espied and entered trap door to late,
thus now ensnared and inextricably
caught into the web of deceit
courtesy my own making
detritus of sundered scattered corpses
a stark prelude of unpleasant fate
awaits yours truly,
whereat once harmonious convergence
between the writer of these words
wrought havoc upon the wife
courtesy unfettered wanton lust
towards Alice in Chains,
where hook, line and sinker

A

I. Pin~pon~pan~pon~

The Wabi Sabi Museum
Is asking the public
For donations
To help pay for
The new hardwood flooring
With which
All of the old, blotchy-coloured
Cracked cement floor will be covered

NE