The mind, up there lurking
behind my eyes, pushing them
to see things only one way,
begins the exercise, the small
torture of thinking only
of how I wish to see
Spring again, one more time.
One more time: a perfect, sweat soaked,
last word on the night encore from
a band playing at their peak.
One more time: a run on my own guitar
that opens my eyes to possibility.
One more time: the kiss that leads
to nothing more than another.
One more time: a smile at
a news story, a bit of faith in anything,
a good thought about something that
has to be done, that only I can do,
that will be done.
The mind, up there lurking
in my tender skull, pounding from within
against the outer shell, the one I show
all of you, deforming me
into a lumpen mask
of no hope
as I think
and think
and think.
It’s ok, says the mind
to me, persisting in pushing
the thought upon me
that I would have liked
to enjoy something,
anything,
just one more time,
but no.
Dark Matter 
December 10th, 2016 at 2:29 pm
Sorry, a difference in personality. Probably introversion/extroversion. My bad. We’ve been through this before. Old age forgetfulness and gut level shoot from the mouth disease are not a good combination. I respond and express from what I am feeling at the moment. Intellectual discourse on theories is different type of experience than your poetry for me. I should know better than project my way of being on someone else, particularly someone who has warned me before. I will try hard not to respond spontaneously out of my feelings.
Can’t promise it will never happen again. Would you prefer I not follow you? Your poetry speaks to where I am or have been often, so it’s very hard for someone like me to not respond and benefit from dialogue. Though sadly these days the benefit may be very short term.
December 10th, 2016 at 3:24 pm
Of course I want you to follow me!
December 10th, 2016 at 12:49 pm
You can’t write like that without experiencing it. It may not be conscious or even serious, but you echo what many of us struggle with, so of course we respond out of what you touch with your poetry. The response is as much for us as you,!
December 10th, 2016 at 12:55 pm
Of course I’ve experienced it. Never made any secret of it. I have bipolar disorder. Have had it for years. But giving me advice based on reading a poem of mine? I write when I feel good. I write when I don’t. You can’t tell what I’m feeling in the moment with any certainty by reading a poem.
Also…I don’t stay alive for others. I stay alive for me. I don’t owe anyone any more of my work. If I quit tomorrow, I quit tomorrow without a qualm.
December 10th, 2016 at 12:45 pm
Good grief, Charlie Brown! It sounds like, “Abandon all hope, who enter here.” Don’t you dare bail on the rest of us out here, who are still digging for that damn pony in this pile of manure! You at least manage to give us a voice, to even turn what feels like futility into art. You were given an awesome gift and it wasn’t just for you. Your readers don’t just connect with you. We connect with one another. We get courage from knowing we are not alone, that there’s a force in the Universe that’s on our side, and you connect us to one another and that collective Spirit.
December 10th, 2016 at 12:45 pm
I don’t write autobiography.