On days like these
When poetry
Flies from the nest
Of safety and rest
Relinquish the I's
Of my own eyes
And speakeasy of U.

What am I
If not of you
Then to you?

Half your age
Uneducated
Vulnerable
Just coming to grasp truth
And lies.

You are my 24 hour shrink
But you masquerade
Ever-changing
This journey from womb to tomb has been a waste
And mine has just begun to bloom.

You are Hugh Hefner.
No rasta mon
The gone
Was go
And is, is going
Uncontrollably
Future is present
And soon passed.

Where shall I turn
In the void of Virginia?
Inward or outward
Homeward or westward
Speechless or some-word?

Will the Suite for Life and Violin
Be as sweet in your absence?

I was speaking easy of you
But in this reflection,
I saw myself.