Morning

Meaningless days pass with wind, the shrill cries of birds in empty trees, the dead leaves echo me.

Afternoon

In a far away country, you sit and remember me sporadically, perhaps. Winter days always end abruptly.

Evening

Violins feed on long silences; I walk into the sunsets alone, blank. Mists await cold still nights.

Long Night

Miles Davis blows his horn. The notes sing of my belabored breath. The candle flickers in starlight.

Knife slicing onions, sharp tears, Lovers declare old-fashioned fidelity till death. Earth just knows seasons change.

I sit outside, band-aided fingers; this air is more transparent than glass. Cicadas confirm in high pitch.

Early Morning

Sleep draining out mind's noise. Dreams drift in and out, hulking ships. Sun is climbing the horizon.

2001:12:07 19:30 Atlanta