Another rerun.....

I've got to go on a crash diet
and grow a head of hair
whatever works, well I shall try it
to keep my head from being bare

I need to trim my mustache neat
and shave 'most every day
and, again, watch what I eat
so some of me will go away

Trim the hair in ears and nose
clip nails on fingers and on toes
use drops to allay bloodshot eyes
work out the jiggle in my thighs

poetry written is for poet first
only person who must be pleased

stretching words thin
tantalizing them to mean
what they mean
beyond what they mean

word play --
not a contact sport
but for firing neurons
skipping electro-chemical light
in darkness of skulls

critics pick and pull
poet's words
stack opinion upon opinion
losing meaning
perhaps only poet knows

poet just keeps writing
for him or herself --

most ruthless of critics.

On a top floor balcony I sit
in our great east coast city
as the night fades into day
among concrete business monoliths

The last few visible stars fade
into skies turning slowly black to gray
all silent save a lone street cleaner
slowly chugging down empty streets

Sun still drowned by tattered ocean
although under lighting horse tail cirrus clouds
with a soft saffron glow
alongside cris-crossed contrails

Deafening waves of blood
Pounding in my ears
The quiet noise
Sudden darkness fills my eyes
Rising on the flux of my panic
It was the clatter of my clutter
Flowing in rushing rivulets
Down the banks of my life’s stream
Washed to the brink
Of eternity’s open maw
The crash cart enters
Harshly inducing
My reentry into the now
Briefly dead
But now reborn
Giving me two birth dates

* Due to a stomach ulcer, an artery burst. I died and was revived. This is my first poem on this experience. Cat.