Stories from L.A.

        The Poetry Page


Clouds hang low in the sky
forcing their weight upon us
but I still breathe
despite the weight of missing you
which rests upon my chest,
despite the weight of longing
for someone, for something
that pushes in around me.
I must admit to a bit of melancholy,
to a strange desire
for the impractical,
to a desire
for the sort of passion
I've always had
a desire for it to have direction
besides towards you
so many years buried
in the mists of time.
Like the clouds
I seek release
wet and falling.



October 7, 1996