bollards,

where is the mooring ...

the icy coastal range,

but it's more chilly within

the beach in winter

lost . . . .

just can't see the forest for the trees

losing oneself at the beach,

and totally losing one's way

turn right,

turn left . . . turn nowhere

it's not quite spring yet,

just can't wait . . .

lapsed memories,

of last week and today

gazing out the shuttered window . . .

escapism for the day . . .

another stairway . . .

to an unknown state of mind

at the dock.

take me away . . .

looking away . . . .

from a purported disturbance

a stairway to nowhere,

and a passage into the darkness

why turning your back,
on a sunny February day . . .

you win some,
and you lose some

waiting to exhale . . .

it's been years

an abandoned stage,

a forgotten existence

it all boils down to:

the fear itself

fifty-five #3,

dark side of the mirage