The anatomy
of whispers
haunts
a mad man
sitting
hard, cold,
and alone
in shadows
His proud
emptiness
cascading
down
deep
in his tightly
gripped bottle
coveting coins
in a grimy pocket
of fortuitous
panning
fatefully spent
on yesterday's
dreams
and tomorrow's
disciplined
sorrow
A retention
of a single
memory
scrutinizing
his regret
day
after day
The scent
of a woman,
befalls laboriously
on broken senses
tightly wound
shaking fists
at the walls
and skies
and people
passing by
wishing
every
woman that passes...
would be the woman
he left
behind
With his caved,
graven heart
silent shaken poise
tears reverberate...
whispering her name





)















Be well and be blessed




































123 old applause
