Counting

i scream out the numbers

of the sheep as they pass.

in my mind, behind my eyes

that have seen too much.

the sounds I try to drown,

five-fifty-five, five-fifty-six...

the numbers rise each and every night,

the flock increases in size.

i'm losing count,

i'm losing my voice.

still the leaping sheep bleat

in response to the rhythm,

of my desire to forget.

Posting Poems Until Further Notice.

I need to go on sabbatical,

a pilgrimage to find myself.

My soul, my heart

have gone missing.

Posting "Lost" signs everywhere

in poems and prose...

and silence.

I've exhausted the in-between,

the merged time of alert and asleep.

I'm tired of the obscured,

brought on by Bacchus.

To drink, to dream

to slip away...

A coward's folly.

Autumn leaves fall like confetti

in a ticker tape parade.

Summer being sent off,

Winter being ushered in.

And in that brief time in-between

the hazy days

and the hibernation,

are moments

of reflection

as each leaf touches down.