13.
The Birds of Anxiety flutter
fruitlessly though my end
Head
	whatever.

12-29-87
	When one Sorrow catches up
to you.  Look out   rest are following
from the sky.


yesterday's death screams at your
future
misplaced Time sifts through 
your fingers
   as your grey hairs 
Grow. 
Your Bones weary
Brittle thoughts 
Break crystal
In the hard light of 
Reality
Beams   Blackness   Paints
your sky. The future's
eyes close on 
Today, The wind Whistles through the
Barren Pines