death

such brilliant eyes are there no more, they have
become dead. buried, depressed. left with
no air to live from.

saint of lost causes come save them.

comfortable

on some days where there are clouds
i look forward to nights with bright stars
a big moon, perfect and round
and flashing lights of passing planes

i expect my share of peace and quiet
that i've consciously created
and troubles and friends
are meticulous weaves i set aside

and so i am well and fine
and i'm comfortably looking for nothing

i am well and fine.