Melissa

   She sits and cries, and suddenly, those warming, goofy smiles mean nothing ‘cause
she‘s real, FOR SHE WAS THE LIFE-POET, dancing, tiptoe, across imaginary fields of 
verse, invoking Elliot in her frowns and Byron in her laughs, and I loved her, loved the 
quick-moving reality of pretending she, and I, and everything before us was the absolute
truth, believing in no more than the dirt, but now, it’s real, but not as God intended
(Tho he did), ‘cause the heavy-handed blackjack-bearing thug of truth sets his sights on
my broken bones, and I bleed, and die, ‘cause my beautiful little friend has stared down
the darkly vined path, and so nothing is sacred, anymore.    
   I pray she rests her head, but she walks, like I always seem to, praying the ground 
may love me while the boot relentlessly keeps time on the back of my head, while the
inconsequential dork sports his remorse for not knowing enough, while I remain, beaten,
tossed about, like some rag-tag little monkey-kid puppet punching bag. 
   And so, the coroner files away my eyes with all the precision of a Buick, and my
brain is numb, cold, and I find myself dreaming about how I’d like to hold her, these
untouched arms scream out in pain, salvation seems some dim memory, and I stand, tho
sitting in time, before the page, bing-banging the percussive snare of the keyboard,
snapping out verse after verse of mindless drivel to the Gods I adore, love, beauty,
harmony, and the touch of another.
   How I miss those days long ago, when I could feel someone’s arms around me, now I am 
cold, weak, each touch seems further from reality as my mind slides away, and I can 
accept nothing anymore, for I am the dark, beat, weathernworn  book of uncertain
salvation.  And so my muscles creak, and the wind shrieks samasara on the hills, as I
come to face my memories, but your eyes, as they go aloft, cast a glow on the soft folds
of your glistening body, my little god, for this I love you for nothing, for the 
memories of the lies we once were keep me warm ‘cause the night, she is so cold.

Like what you see, e-mail me at dkeic@dreamtheater.zzn.com or Bioproject LTD@aol.com, if one doesn't work, try the other.