more irony with a dash of cummings

i want to write in ee's style...

one called 

iusedtotakeyoutoschoolinthemorningandrelishedeveryminuteofit

...

but,

i hate biting styles

.

especially

from the master

it ' is not ever going to be 

as good

.

untitled

She is

No longer my muse.

I won’t give her that credit… not even for the heartbreak.

I think I had much to do with that.  But,

Already, and before

Maybe,

There was one who didn’t inspire me

Per se

But asked; kindly

And was so pure and wonderful about it

I think maybe

I’ll write for her…for now.

 

She’s the only one who reads them anyway.

Terms

I go to sleep in terms of poetry

Thought of tomorrow and

Things that need to be done

Are of no concern to me

I fall into the dark embrace of unconsciousness

Dreaming faintly in couplets

Caesuras and

Beauty unspeakable. 

Diamonds

I knew she was going to leave.

She had diamonds in her eyes.

Diamonds are beautiful,

And diamonds are hard

Cold

Paid for with blood.

She had the most beautiful diamonds in her eyes,

The day she shut the door forever.

End Dreams

Sleeping is not a fun thing for me.  In fact, it is rare that I ever look forward to it.  I dream too deeply and too darkly for sleep to ever be considered pleasurable.  

So I used to stay up all night, staring at your resting face, hoping that I could somehow stay awake long enough to greet you with a kiss, when you woke.

Now I stare at the blankness of night, hoping  to stay awake just so I don't have to see you in my dreams.  I dream too deeply. 

Irony

Lately... I've been deeply considering 

A permanent retirement

Of my proverbial pen.

It brings so very little joy to few,

Much pain to some,

And no catharsis for me.

Anymore.