Epiphanies...

To brush aside those
Unclear dreams that hung hopefully
All night by the pillow,
And type, merely type
One’s breath out
All day…

To stare at the blank walls
Of coffee shops on Sundays,
To find in them a mate
That cannot speak.
To memorize smells of
Favorite trees
To sit tight-lipped
And recall the touch
Of a distant breeze…

Can you determine?
Can you think?
No soul, no heart
Not even a hand for you.
Just a whim
Like those
Cigarette smoke and rings…

The desire to parcel
Life off in glass bottles,
Across oceans, across streams…
Disown pain, weakness, bitterness, spite
For that drip-drop-drip happiness
Incidentally, a taste you may not like…