Over 6 Years

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justanotheryearisokayyouthinkshouldbeok

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justokthistimetoookokpouranother

justanotheryearisokitsokisntititsokitsok

itsnotokiknowiknowitsnotitsnotitsnot

itsnotokbuttodayok

todayok

ok

itsnotok

Fuck

How fucking thirsty

Is the tree of liberty?

Ami the Carpenter?

Were I to have a respite moment

My soul would sail yonder towards

Those hills as dark as night

The white hills of heaven ?

Don’t think I’ll ever know

Them; just those stoked in fright.

Flotsam

sitting here
working at nothing
it’s so hard to see
What became of the little boy me?
Maybe I’ve seen him reborn
(but) when did he die?
But I’ve seen him reborn
in the pain in my son’s eyes

sitting here
working at nothing
just killing the time
Wondering what’s filling the tears in my eyes
My boat lost its float
upended, capsized
Now in my lungs – I must wrung
life’s blood and demise

sitting here
working at nothing
with fuck all to do
Wondering what little you’ve said that’s been true
Maybe once – upon a line
how did I imbibe?
can’t remember… did I come here?
now I’ve run out of time

Now just left are the good-byes
Now all that’s left…

wIsh

In the quiet moments – all to myself

Free; no relation to anything

There is a yearning for release

To a tomb of alabaster – fine marble statues

Set aside by some forgotten country-side hill

A monument of once held respect

Loosed and left; no longer loved; abandoned

To time. Then natured

Whose slow reclamation

Consumes all bones

Returned as mulch

That feeds

The souls

Surely

To

come

Bumblin’ Bees

Boy, sometimes, you know, I just feel like a piece of dirt walkin’
Ain’t no use in being, even less in talkin’
There’s a burden to be, but I can’t feel it for nothin’
I guess it’s just for those busy bees we call sons and daughters

So, as expected, I walk just a little, here to there
Find a little shade ‘neath a bridge or a bench, up on a square
Being a bumble of a bum, tambourined extraordinaire
I sleep on the breeze; stained glassed windows, incensed air

Then as I go, you know, this dirt bakes, it cakes up and up
‘Til it seeps into my knees, creates in me a waddle and cluck
Then there’s that burden in mind; it can’t all be for nought
I guess I’m just for those bumblin’ bees we call daughters and sons

Orenge

Over the heads of dead soldiers

A miser’s maw munches

Rubled-red drenched hot lead

Held in card’nals clutches

Fall 2019 #32

So long the sun of summer rose
And bloomed divine petals
Like rainbow stains from fallen rains
Pressed by judge’s gavel

But lo! the judge is gone from us
And scattered all in wind
Our babbled tongues and hubris
Caused summer to rescind

So in the winter of our sun
Our colors bleed to grey
What was pristine will lose its sheen
We’ll fall by scythe’s blade

And remain in the spirit born to us
By design? I think by fate
The heaven that was over us
Lost its pearly gate

Thus, in the fall, shall we revel
In colors’ brightened end
We know the cold comes for us
Our summer won’t come again

Fall 2019 #31

How quick it seems, the reds from greens
Comes earlier each year
Though summer’s longer, ever hotter,
Fall creeps ever near

I feel the chill of axis tilt
How breaths escape my lungs
And forms a ghost of memory
Past lives I abandoned

Remembering each noon that bloomed
Before each summer’s end
Beneath my sheets, where I retreat,
When greens again turn red.

Fall 2019 #30

the evening i watched bumbles in flight
has grown much shorter
while morning’s chill has stretched into noon
and continues to loiter

the breaths i breathe i find condensed
in tapestries and threads
though the sun dispassionately
sits high above my head