Hello,
I must start cleaning my house, but because it (the house, not house cleaning) always reflects how I feel, I can't do it just yet. Instead, I'm posting my new poem. Or two poems. Wallowing in my little sorrow? Maybe, but expressing it is really letting it go. Well, let's see.



I'll have to slice this sorrow
No, no, no, no! I'll dice it

Its blood is sticky and so freshly warm
you can smell it

There is no grace in its dance
No music in its voice
I look away and

smile


.........................................................................................................



Under this layer of smile
Sleeps a thickness of sadness
punched with

the joy of your youth

the peace of my ageing

and

this big hole of nothingness




Listen to this