table

looking down through his glass 

held by hands like bricks,

he saw where the wine from tears

had left their stains of disappointment 

deep inside the splinters of a broken table.

                                                                                                                                   avp

                                                                           

                                              

huckleberry

with a carnival balloon in hand

and paper banjos playing softly beside the river he walked home,

pausing only for a moment

to released the fictional helium hope

of ever finding his own huckleberry friend…

then quietly placed his love in the museum of his soul.

                                                                                           avp

wasted

the pile of faded blue t-shirts

that sit silent in the corner of an empty room

still have the scented memories 

of his wasted kisses, lost loves,

and the absent knowing

of how to feel something for someone.

                                                                         

                                                                             avp

season

enduring the season

where wine numbs the hurt,

his feet push down old memories of missed loves

deep into the coarse shelled sand

where tides quickly wash away …

another year passed alone.

                                                                           

                                                                                                                              avp