Saturday, December 29, 2012


Too many ideas and my brain won’t quit... 
so much in my head that my dreams won’t sit 
well when I wake and try to remember what they said... 
coffee at noon to chase wine in the moonlight 
and I can’t keep it straight in my head... 
no shit... 
there’s no rest in peace in my bed... 
there’s no rest... 
there’s no peace... 
there’s no bed... 
I type with fingers that fail when words are said... 
fingers that bled 
when they spoke for the thoughts unsaid... 
so many times that I quit in my head... 
no one will miss one bit... 
not spoken... 
not thought... 
not read.

Too many ideas.

© Copyright 2012 Bill Friday

Saturday, October 6, 2012

Advil and Alcohol Cures Everything

Will you please come to me in my dreams, after three and before four, when the pain is less and sleep comes best to my sleepless brain?

The pain in my mouth has almost gone with the sunrise.  A root canal on the horizon, like the dawn.  Three Advil after clammy night sweats, and sleep tries to claim me again.

Will you please come to me in my dreams, after four and before five, when my thoughts express my hopelessness, and my soul needs its rest?

The pain came back in crashing waves as the sun appeared without warning.  Gray-pink light from the fetal position, and there is no fucking way... no fucking way.

Will you please come to me in my dreams, after six and before seven, when the sun is raw as an exposed and dying nerve? 

The pain isn't all in my body, or in my hanging head.  It’s closer to my soul.  And like anyone could tell you, my soul is dead. 

Will you please come to me in my dreams, if I have them, after eight or nine or ten?  When the sun hangs low and the night comes back, and I’m too tired to feel.

The pain is no more.  It has gone the way of my soul.  Rest is inevitable, if rest is what it should be called.  Maybe just a break between struggles... with what’s real.

Will you please come to me in my dreams, when my dreams are the truth, and my open eyes look at what can’t be so?

                A new pain.  What is real.  Above the lies.

Copyright © 2012 Bill Friday

Monday, July 30, 2012


I never hit her, although once she took a swing at me.
I put my arms up, and she bruised herself on one more bony than she.

I never left her, until the day that she left me.
I had patience.  The kind that lasts a lifetime.  Till there was no more we.

I never loved her, but I thought so when I was too young to see.
Only blinded till I wasn’t any longer.  It was just stupidity.

Copyright © 2012 Bill Friday

Friday, July 27, 2012


I don’t want to be right now, if being means I care. 
If caring means I need to be today.
A future with no past I can bear, or at least look forward to. 
Not the need to cease to be today.
I see another day to be, not this one, but somewhere. 
To live my deepest need to be someday.
A time of then and there, with you. 
Nothing left to be or do, but we. 
Or another thing to say.    

Copyright © 2012 Bill Friday

(and follow Bill at Expats Post)