The Birth of Venus

 What shoes I should wear,

how to eat and how much not,

I don't know what I'll do, if my

Yorkie won't stop barking, soon,

I drag my tired brain, from place

to place, dreaming about justice

and injustice, and gorging myself

on winged poems, I never have

enough money to go around,

and then words worry me,

too, like would, could, shall, or 

should, and why not do?

Even though my pen may have

a moral plan, can it out-argue my past?

Seems not, because just this morning

I was dreaming of budding twigs

in my graying hair, and summers

dancing with an endless love,

I was thinking how his eyes flashed

with fire and his always smiling lips

were covered in gold-leaf I could not resist

kissing once more even in my dreams.