It's nice to have someone to talk to--
like a crystal prism world
refracting rainbow visions to the
colorblind,
grey in every day
and way,
stillness sets over spring
and it might as well
be winter.
Longer days,
shorter nights,
less words,
or none at all,
the ability to care
wearing thin,
and forlorn cries
into the night
tapering
and dying out:
these are the things
I have come to know,
sculpted,
effaced,
rebuilt in my mind,
using my heart
as the eraser,
using my dreams
as the chissle,
and I am drowned
in the days that were
and are to come
and might,
might as well not be.
Still, it's nice to have someone to talk to.