Conversations with Shehe
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 Little Blahs
(a.k.a. Schizophrenic quickie)

I don't know what to say or write.
I have rhyming verse
From the scenes we have memorized racing through my mind
I have so many things rushing
Like water in torrents
Sweeping with it things
I need to remember and
Have lost my grasp.
Should I make it to
Calmer waters,
I might find them if I sift through
The silt of my memories,
but only if it were so easy.

“Kindness and compassion don't equate with doormat and naivety.” – Manea

Reflexively I take the call.
I find a tale of woe
As only a pagan mother can know
Her husband has the gall
To sue for custody
For her children and all.

She tells me of the legalities
Of a small Colorado town
And how lies and disparity
Are the source of her pain
That she wears as a frown.

“Sadness is never so bittersweet, as when we part, to anticipate our return again.” -Manea

I never know who I am,
until like oil paints
we mix and swirl
and Life,
Like paper
Captures beautiful
Patterns  from the place
Where all meet,
Then the Art of Life uniquely
Is expressed.

“Clothes, make up, and skin are changeable, but soul, spirit, and passion fill them out, and give them substance.” -Manea

She fears her life is over
And the parts of her
That nearly bled her to death
Quicken from my touch
Ache with my kiss
Moisten from my love
Joyful noises escape her lips
Love and life
Returned, and fears
Faded away.

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