The D Spot

You can always tell the ones who are dying
they are quieter, more polite.
So focused on the inner battle,
trying to maintain the even in and out
a gently erractic pulse;
the ones who are dying are soft spoken,
take a back seat to the drama,
as if knowing that it wouldn’t matter much anyway.
And the ones who aren’t dying
well
You can tell them too.
They are crying yelling
swearing at you with spittle soaked words
Threatening lawsuits
Crawling across the floor in order to
better impress with
histrionics and moans.
Meanwhile,
the quiet one in the chair…
she just slips away
between the time you call security and the time you grab her chart.
Almost too late,
You step over the writhing on the floor
to reach the crash cart.

I am reminded of you this
early spring.
Usually your ghost haunts my summertime nights,
I don’t know why you are here
now
inside my thoughts
reminding me of long ago wishes
and midnight moonlight
and
the sunsets and roses
I saw in your eyes.
The last time I saw you
I barely remember.
the last time I kissed you
I cannot recall.
Those days were so hazy and
we were so young
by the time it was done
I wonder if I ever knew you at all…
I used to feel you, know your thoughts
I’d pick up the phone when you’d barely just dialed.
You threw stones at my window and
sang to me at the dock
by the lake.
You told me your secrets.
You cried with me.
One night of many
breakups
You sang Prince to me
While your mother flirted with my dad in a cigarette cloud.
The last time you left me
in that early summer morning,
I saw reddish highlights in your hair
and we kissed and said
‘later’
Never expecting to
never see
each other
again.

Feeling a sense of impending destiny today…
Not sure from where it originates but anticipation runs high.
Doesn’t feel like meeting an old friend, or getting a surprise phone call.
Not even sure, today, if this implication is even a good thing.
Things are happening for a reason the last few days, inevitably traveling towards a foretold future.
Only problem is that I haven’t picked up my tarot cards in a long time, and my eyes have been blinded to my own forthcoming.
My dreams tell me nothing but tall tales of fancy and impotent longing.
Crow has spent some time with me, yet another speaker of change.
Whatever it is I hope someone holds my hand when it happens.
*******************************************
Old dog watches sadly,
quietly from his place on the floor.
Eyes drooping red-rimmed, he sighs now and then
for effect.
Watching as Mistress labors in her duties.
Now on her knees, scrubbing the floor til it shines.
Mistress stands slowly, popping knees and stretching her back.
She regards him with affection,
her constant companion in all things domestic.
Pats him on the head and old dog thumps his tail,
raising a small poof of dust on the carpet.
He’d smile if he could.
“Good boy,” she says to him,
before turning and getting the vacuum out of the closet.
Old dog lays his head on his paws again with another
theatrical sigh.
Waiting for the next break in Mistress’s daily routine.
Maybe next time she will give him a cookie.