Mail me!

Sheesh! After that screed, I'll include a poem. Although it isn't about puppydogs and lovely meadows, I hope it will ameliorate the previous entry a bit!
Have a good Saturday. We humans will make it through this world alright, I reckon.

like an unused organ
(a spleen?) removed years ago
while I slept,
every so often I reach back to mop the sweat
and feel the scar still tender,
every so often,
I scratch and pull my hand back
red with blood,
and when it bleeds, I seldom remember why
or when or how
that part was removed
and, really, was it removed?
perhaps it was worth it.
so many ghosts follow me,
chill breezes on dark summer nights-
like out of place insects
in the middle of winter.
how do I share the new and now with these mists from my past?
how can they join to marry
my lost and disjointed
members?
calling my forgotten parts back
to a place far away and inaccessible
(only ethereally recalled
like the colors in an autumn sunset
in the deep of January's still night)
the paint is brushed on and on
layer after layer, shade after color
and hue-
strained descriptions of that which is covered
remain to remember the gazes of those
of those and that which has passed.