I’m done convincing./
Like trying to capture frost,/
it does little good.

If I don’t still write,/
I am wrong. If I write still,/
am I then still wrong?

Dogs chasing their tails./
Nets thrown at reflected stars./
Attempts at romance.

Stop reading my blog./
Someday, those deep, feeling poems/
won’t be about you.

OR
Stop reading my blog./
Often, past, deep, feeling poems/
aren’t all about you.

Perhaps critics are correct, /
after all./
The human/
emotional experience/
is so similar/
to each/
and all/
of us./

Placing/
my feelings/
on electronic sleeves/
for the world/
to view/
only serves/
doubt./

All read./
All wonder./
All feel./
All are./

And yet,/
the only constant/
is that/
I am.

Fly high with feelings./
Make certain, in joy, you stay/
away from windshields.

You are resistant./
If he was as persistant/
as me, he’d be here.

Last year you Rome kissed./
Seville felt your warm embrace./
I could only wish.

I can’t stand the miss./
You. The emptiness. So I /
lay in bed instead.

I’ve found diaries./
I left them alone. I’ve learned./
Old dairies stink worse.