Poetry Drafts

there is a challenge
in admitting
that not wanting to do
is the norm,
the way I am
right now 
but not always been
though

how to make you see
there is more
than No in me
there is love
potentially
there is care
certainly
there are all the
things you would
expect
yet presently
not within reach

how to sell the case
that matters
how to sell the lie
without lying
how to make the truth
appear to be
less of a fake
than I currently
feel
I
am

I remember a typewriter
by His office desk; to the left
mechanical by design
portable of a kind
though I never saw it
in the garden.
I remember a cupboard
in His office space
painted partly green
for reasons He knew best
it carried in its belly
a photograph; a face
a woman not the wife
a woman not the mother
a woman of desire perhaps
or a memory; \ forget-me-not ///;
a woman in uniform
a woman
without answers
I remember His typewriter
in His office; to the left
where He withdrew
contemplating perhaps
the merits of family life
and how best to avoid it

I no longer live with the memories needed
to partake in the shadow dancing of man
I no longer recall the urges driving my senses
to join in the merry circles of youth
I no longer crave nor even desire
anything but peace of mind
a quiet place to lay my hat
somewhere shaded
beneath some trees; maybe
only wishing for those memories
that made me; me
one day to return
for judgement

behind the last door
a naked clown; wryly smiling
a bowl of whipping cream; rabbis dancing
and a scythe; swinging
behind the last door
your final words
will be
try, trust and
undeniable lust

Is it too late to discover

Is it too late to find 

a thing to love, 

a purpose among the stars, 

not just counting the hours til the bell tolls and

they lower the coffin

into the ground,

Is it too late to discover

Is it too late to find

that elusive catch, 

a fish not swimming away 

a flow to go with

until 

until…

until the dusk turns to

night