Elusive Poet's Clearly Indefinite Longing

I want 
To describe 

A certain indescribable 
Hue of yellow 

By looking closely 
At how 

I cannot.

Discrete Series Ruse Number One

Muse, no matter 
Where or when 
I find myself wanting, 
Without fail I try 
Sounding out 
Those most discreet— 
Yea, coy even, vocables— 
By counting back- 
Wards from a hundred, 
Always coming up against 
That most singular constant 
Loneliest one, my old friend.

Mooning Narcissistic Voyeur With Diplopia

Peep, 

It’s at least quadruple your usual 
Dose of swooning when 
You see how rosy- 
Cheeked everything looks 
In the looking glass when 
You spy two of you spooning.

Sleeping On It Another Day

Make no mistake, my friend— 
Before you venture 
Out into the blinding 
Light of a new day, 
Pray you do not 
Hesitate to leave

A helpful farewell 
Note to the troubled 
Self you’re leaving 
To fend for it- 
Self in the dark
Behind you—

Before you 
Know it, your turn will  
Come round again, fail-
Safe and eager too, 
Make it your day.

You Can Never Be Right All Of The Time

“No man ever steps in the same river twice, 
for it’s not the same river and he’s not the same man.” 
—Heraclitus 

When 

At last you begin 
To see where 

You started losing the final 
Vestige of your self-

Deception, it will 
Look to you

As if you were 
Forever looking

In the right place 
At the wrong time.