6.67 x 10⁻¹¹ N·m²/kg²

There’s a tiny dot of hate 

I hold for my mother - so 

Tiny it barely holds: still 

It is there waiting for me 

When she speaks about her

Self - her youth - her loves 

Her conquests - her dreams 

Her turns and her decisions 

Each impacted me - I was 

And am still the turn of each 

Misplaced thought - I want 

To speak about how I never 

Met the man who gave me life 

Knew the man who fed & kept 

Never had that feeling of a hug 

Who wanted nothing from me 

And wanted only the world for me 

I want to tell her this but for me 

It is late in the game - for her it 

Would only be pain. More pain 

So I keep my mouth shut and take 

A bit of her hurt and smile at her 

And place it away : near the dot 

The gravitation will pull it all in 

And I will unpack it all one day 

When she is gone 

Nice round tears so I can float 

cause

………..It weighs heavy 

On the soul - these reads 

Short excerpt of a single 

Moment of life gone so 

Wrong. One decision 

That cannot be recalled 

Thru out humanity: each 

Corner has its laws: each

Its servants that read for 

What we can only call - probable 

square–cube law

I like to believe you are not of this world

You are not here - you went wherever it is 

We go where there is no work - no sleep - no 

Thought of - yes it’s the only logical explanation. 

For the no call, no follow through - no nothing 

I think often - we are one in a flock of birds 

Those that lift from the power lines - before 

Sunrise and the ones before night in mass 

We are in a batch. Each soul floats high enough 

Slow enough to escape 

Yes - it’s the only logical explanation to our 

Conundrum here on earth - or perhaps it’s because 

You married - live a quiet life of desperation 

I know that life too well - the black and white 

I prefer to think you are not of this world - it is 

The best of thoughts 

John 20:26

Sermons create contemplation

So too does silence 

The hmm of the heater - the buzz 

Of the printer - such sound creates 

What once was ours 

May your sermons reach the far end 

Or fall upon those who think in 

Narrow terms - expanse btwn what 

Is and what reality is - such breath 

Amongst ink splattered - it is good

My friend - we are good - even as 

We doubled back because we did 

Not know how to move forward 

perennial

……Love me

             Love me not 

You didn’t know that you loved me

But then whoever knows - a few perhaps 

Perhaps even more:  many more in February 

The hearts and the red and the day 

Filled with chocolates and flowers 

Red spills into white 

Carnations 

Given freely 

I never did care for roses

If I had kept all the roses every male and one female 

Ever gave me - my cabinets would be littered 

Crumbled dried bits of love with sticks 

Sticks that prickled 

When asked - why - for love most responded 

One - said I thought it would be nice 

And we left it at that - I hear those were placed into a hole

Perhaps there was enough left in them to bloom  

coldness' gift

i write so beautifully

an easy leap into a known existence 

i have nothing to do 

right now and have everything 

the cold has made me a moment 

a moment of nothing 

to do. 

what a gift to have 

if i only - i could think 

break away - pray 

an action - work is paused 

for a moment - tomorrow 

the pressure will be mine 

but now 

right now I write. 

Two thousand twenty and six

What I want to write about: 

I haven’t had the strength 

To move 

I’m locked in 

Each month at the start 

Then the middle 

And the end of the month 

I know 

It must be done 

Still part of me 

Won’t move - not yet - not now - soon