It’s been a strange and strangely busy week, so I’m posting something from my “Poems to be Trashed” Folder.

It’s got to be approximately worth the price of free.

It’s in three-line, 17-syllable (5/7/5) structure. And true. Of course, it’s true.

Why would I make up crap?

–   .   –   .   –

Horoscope for Today

Something or someone

Is slipping from your fingers

My horoscope warns

 .   .   .

More specifics please.

And? And? And? You must tell more.

And it’s for the best.

.   .   .

Don’t I feel better?

Yes. Wait. No I don’t. Best how?

Good enough to feel.

.   .   . 

Frustrated or worse.

Worse? Yes. Worse? Yes, for a while.

Then you’ll see. See what?

.   .   . 

See what? What? See what!

Soon you’ll see that this is how.

It’s supposed to be.

.   .   . 

So lose. Slip. Let go.

Something, someone still clinging.

Worse before better.

.   .   . 

What if I’m the one?

Slipped away, letting go of.

Myself not the thing.

.   .   . 

I mean I am someone.

Everybody is I see.

Things all around me.

.   .   .

If I may survive.

This day with sudden lost hope.

Slipping away. Slipped.

.   .   . 

Just like you told me.

This something, someone, some day.

Gone like all others.

 .   .   .

Frustrating and worse.

For just a while then better.

Better tomorrow.

.   .   . 

Click back then, you say.

Learn newest details of your.

Short generic life.

.   .   .

What I would do for.

Some lacked wisdom and counsel.

What I would do if.

.   .   .

Everything valued.

Fought for, keep tight-fisted, trapped.

Squeezed until life oozed.

.   .   .

Broken aroma.

A choked love, a strangled life.

The letting go. Gone.

.   .   .

What if these tired hands.

Release from force to will? 

Trade do for trying.

.   .   .

Relax the grasp. Slip. Through.

Knuckles pale, returned color.

The letting go. Found.

–   .   –   .   –